


The Kings and the Prince, Gotham's Madness

by SweetnessEverglory



Series: Prince of Gotham [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bruce Wayne, Daddy Kink, Emotional Manipulation, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Master/Pet, Masturbation, Mind Manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Fantasy, Top Jeremiah Valeska, Top Jerome Valeska
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-08-23 16:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20245756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetnessEverglory/pseuds/SweetnessEverglory
Summary: Obsession is like love. Love is like hate. Nobody wants to be stuck between a sibling rivalry, certainly not Bruce Wayne and certainly not a sibling rivalry between the Valeska brothers





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is the rewrite of Twinning Isn't Everything and once again I apologize for the wait so to make it up, there's smut in this chapter. Obviously. This is going to be longer and more detailed and have a lot more sex as well as psychological breakdowns. Updates may take time, but they will happen and the requests from the other stories will be put in here, they may take time but will happen. Certainly a jealous Jerome and lots of tattoos  
\- Also, long story short. Jerome didn't die and was just locked up in Arkham but we all know that doesn't last long lol  
\- Also, also, the underage tag is gone since Bruce is eighteen  
\- Comments, kudos, and requests are always welcome and appreciated!  
Edit: Chapter One has been Edited

The sounds Bruce made were a mix between a shivery whimper and a pleasured moan. His arms gripped Jeremiah's shoulders as Jeremiah moved in and out of the younger man's body, his pace slow and gentle, almost methodical in its movements, as he slid his cock in and out of Bruce's deliciously tight heat.

Bruce Wayne was completely bare for Jeremiah Valeska and Jeremiah Valeska only. His cheeks were flushed, a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, his cock hard and aching between their bodies, the boy splayed out on Jeremiah's bed, tangled in Jeremiah's sheets, in Jeremiah's bunker.

Their foreheads were pressed together, lips only inches apart, heated little gasps escaping Bruce's lips and ghosting over Jeremiah's. Despite the slowness, which was purposefully teasing, Jeremiah was brushing against that innermost sweet spot deep within Bruce's body, eliciting the sweetest of moans and the hottest of whimpers.

"Jeremiah..." Bruce whimpered as he threw his head back, Jeremiah moving against him, sweaty skin sliding against Bruce's.

Jeremiah pressed a sweet kiss to Bruce's lips and kept at it, giving sweet, soft kisses to those even sweeter, soft and swollen lips. Jeremiah loved this. He was teasing, and both of them knew it, waiting for Bruce to beg like he was meant to. Like a pet wanting its' master's approval and begging for it and then relishing in it.

"Please..." Bruce gasped out. "Jeremiah... please..." he whimpered, his cock swollen and aching, throbbing with heat and begging for release, leaking pre-cum onto his belly.

"Bruce..." Jeremiah murmured in Bruce's ear, his voice ringing with disapproval as his grip on Bruce's thighs tightened, painfully.

Bruce whimpered deliciously.

"_Master_..." Bruce moaned, entirely wanton and completely needy.

He was wanton and needy for Jeremiah, begging for Jeremiah and Jeremiah _only_.

"Good boy, Bruce," Jeremiah whispered approvingly in Bruce's ear, the teen _moaning_ at the praise.

One of Bruce's hands moved from its spot beside the teen's head and tried to reach down to take his cock into his hand, ready to start stroking it, but Jeremiah clicked his tongue, disapprovingly, and slapped that pesky little hand away. Bruce whined and instead put his hand on Jeremiah', gripping the older man's body and raking his nails down Jeremiah's back, leaving long, red marks on the pale skin.

"By _my_ hand, Bruce," Jeremiah said in a low voice, his tone disapproving.

Jeremiah's hand left Bruce's thigh and took Bruce's cock into his hand, grinning a predator's grin when Bruce's hips jerked upward into his touch, the sweet little cock pulsing in his grip.

"Do you like that, Bruce?" Jeremiah whispered huskily. "Do you like me touching you? Marking you up? _Claiming_ you?"

Jeremiah looked at Bruce's neck as he said those words, grinning at the flushed skin that was littered with bruises and bite marks, all from Jeremiah's mouth and his mouth only.

"Yes," Bruce moaned, his body trembling.

"Yes _what_, Bruce?" Jeremiah growled, low and dangerous.

"Yes... _Master_," Bruce whispered as he tried to push himself back against Jeremiah's slow thrusts.

"Good boy," Jeremiah murmured as he began stroking his Bruce, calloused fingers rubbing wonderfully against Bruce's soft, warm flesh and the only thing the teen could do was moan at the feeling, his cock throbbing in Jeremiah's hand.

In reality, Jeremiah Valeska was alone in his bed, alone in his bunker, in isolation from the rest of the world, where he lay stroking himself, vigorously and painfully, the need to orgasm becoming painful as heated gasps and low groans escaped his own lips, which were now a dark blood red and not just from him biting them repeatedly.

In his mind's eye, he could picture Bruce Wayne in his bed, tangled and twisted in the sheets, begging for Jeremiah. He could see Bruce's body splayed out, the boy lying on his back, revealed only for Jeremiah's eyes, wanton and begging and aching for Jeremiah and Jeremiah only. Jeremiah, he wanted Bruce. He wanted him more than anything else. Even more than Gotham City.

Between Gotham City and Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah would take Bruce without a second thought. Without question. Jeremiah wanted the boy and when Jeremiah Valeska wanted something, he would get it. Always. No matter the cost. That was the reality.

"More... please..." Bruce moaned as Jeremiah's pace quickened, the older man's thrusts turning hard and fast, Jeremiah's mind catching up with his body.

Jeremiah's hand went up and down Bruce's cock and his own, teasing the slit with his thumb. Pre-cum soiled his hand and stuck to his skin, staining it.

"Cum for me, Bruce," Jeremiah heard himself groan out.

"Cum for me, pet," Jeremiah ground out as he thrust in and out of Bruce's tight heat that enveloped his aching cock like a hot, wet, delicious and vicelike thing.

Bruce threw his head back as he came, moaning wantonly. He came, moaning like a whore, _Jeremiah's_ whore, and Jeremiah grunted as he felt Bruce's velvety walls clamping down on him, sucking him in and practically begging him to fill Bruce up with his release. To stain the boy with himself.

Jeremiah grunted as his own release spurted onto his hand, the mental version of Bruce Wayne clenching down on him, his hands gripping Jeremiah's shoulders and his nails raking down Jeremiah's back, his sweet little hole filling up with Jeremiah's release, filling up and leaking, his chest heaving, rosy little buds swollen, making him cum.

Bruce's cock twitched in Jeremiah's hand, spurting out his release and shooting onto his belly, painting it white. Bruce was trembling in Jeremiah's grip, panting for breath, his lust-filled brown eyes meeting Jeremiah's bright green ones.

"You're mine, Bruce," Jeremiah growled.

"Yes..." Bruce whispered as Jeremiah pressed their lips together, Bruce moaning into Jeremiah's mouth as Jeremiah's tongue poked his lips.

Bruce let him in, their tongues dancing together, sliding across each other, Jeremiah's dominating his.

Bruce gasped as Jeremiah pulled away and pressed their foreheads together again.

Bruce looked at up at him, his eyes almost sad.

"When will it be real?" Bruce asked quietly and Jeremiah stared at him.

"Soon," was all Jeremiah said as he found himself back in his bunker, in his bed, his hand and stomach soiled with his own release, the real Bruce Wayne nowhere in sight.

Jeremiah Valeska was many things. He was intelligent as he was cunning and determined, and he was greedy. He could easily be diagnosed as a narcissistic sociopath.

Jeremiah hated his own brother for those very reasons. It was all Jerome's fault. Jeremiah had genuinely thought that Jerome would die that day after his plan with the blimp and the Laughing Gas had failed, but Jerome had stuck Jeremiah with one last zinger. Two, actually, if you counted Jerome still being alive after Captain Gordon had pulled him to safety instead of letting Jerome fall to his death.

Instead, like always, the good Captain chose to lock Jerome back up in Arkham Asylum for reasons that could be declared selfish. Anyone with even a quarter of a brain knew that Jerome being locked up in Arkham would only last so long.

Jeremiah personally wished that the good Captain had let Jerome fall to his death as it would have given Gotham City some semblance of peace, even for a little while. Maybe it was destiny that he didn't. Maybe it was Jeremiah's destiny to be the one to end Jerome Valeska's life once and for all.

The other zinger was the Laughing Gas that Jerome had left for Jeremiah as a gift, one final 'Fuck you' if you will. Jerome wanted Jeremiah to carry on his legacy and Jeremiah hated him for it.

As far as Jeremiah was concerned, the Laughing Gas only gave him a bit of a cosmetic change, one that was unnecessary in his mind, though the green did look better than ginger. Jeremiah would admit that, only to himself, however. As far as Jeremiah was concerned, Jerome was never right, never the smart one, and never victorious.

The only thing that Jeremiah cared about now was Bruce Wayne. Bruce was his friend. His best friend. Bruce was the one that Jeremiah wanted to have as his best friend, and even after everything with Jerome, Bruce had offered Jeremiah the position at Wayne Enterprises as himself instead of an alias used to hide from Jerome.

Bruce was the one thing that Jeremiah promised himself that he would never have to share. He had to share his mother with Jerome and Jerome had killed her, taking her away forever. Even now Jeremiah wouldn't be a mastermind on his own terms, in his own right.

He would always be known as Jerome's twin brother, the younger brother, and Jerome was the reason why Jeremiah had been discovered by the GCPD in the first place. No matter what, Jeremiah would always have to share the spotlight with Jerome of all people.

Jeremiah especially resented the fact that the only reason he'd ever personally met Bruce was because of Jerome, but now things were going to be different. If Jeremiah had his way, and he certainly would, he would be getting rid of Jerome once and for all and finally have things his way. No more resurrections. No more sharing. He certainly wasn't going to be sharing Bruce.

There was a reason why Jeremiah's thoughts were so focused on Bruce Wayne. He was young but incredibly bright, but he was most unfortunately like James Gordon, almost as though he was the Captain's little protege. Jeremiah could Bruce easily.

The poor boy honestly thought there was still good in the world, the same world he still somehow managed to see in black and white. Almost like a comic book. Heroes vs. villains and the heroes always triumph and maybe even get the girl. Good guys and bad guys. The law-abiding police and the criminals they always put behind bars.

Jeremiah smiled, bright green eyes gleaming. It would be Jeremiah who helped Bruce to see the reality of this cold, cruel world and he would be there for Bruce when it broke him. He would be the one to bring Bruce back and guide him through this dark, hell bound city.

Jeremiah was the only one Bruce would ever need and he would be the only one Bruce would ever want. As a friend, and maybe, just maybe, as a lover. It would be Jeremiah who would help Bruce realize, before it was too late, that there were no heroes in Gotham. Only killers and survivors.

Jeremiah had plans for Gotham City, but certainly not ones that fit with what Jerome wanted for the city. Jeremiah wasn't going to be some pawn in Jerome's sick game of absolute anarchy. Jeremiah wasn't going to be, as Jerome would surely put it, the second joker on the deck. Cards or chess, Jeremiah was not second-rate. He was not second best.

He was not to be a pawn, but a king. And kings? They always got what they wanted, didn't they? Their endgame was the only one that was important? After all, Jeremiah's real endgame? Bruce Wayne.

**********

The sounds Bruce made were a mix between a desperate beg and a whorish moan. His arms gripped Jerome's shoulders as Jerome thrust in and out of the younger man's body, his pace rough and without rhythm, practically animalistic, as he slammed in and out of Bruce's deliciously tight heat.

Bruce Wayne was completely naked for Jerome Valeska and Jerome Valeska only. His skin was flushed, a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, his cock hard and aching where it hung from between his legs, the boy splayed out on Jerome's cot in Arkham Asylum, the poor thing aching and throbbing, desperate to cum.

His hips were pulled up, held firmly in Jerome's bruising grip, fingers digging into soft flesh, as Jerome slammed into him, hitting Bruce's sweet spot and eliciting the hottest of moans from Bruce's lips. And Jerome thought that for someone with a fairly deep voice, he could get so loud and so high-pitched.

"JEROME!" Bruce cried as Jerome struck his sweet spot, stars surely popping in his eyes as Jerome fucked him, the ginger shoving the boy's face down and making him rut against the cot.

This was not lovemaking. This was not even passionate sex. This was fucking. Doggy style.

"JEROME!" Bruce moaned over and over, his lips swollen from sucking Jerome's cock only moments before, his own spit the only lube he'd gotten. "Jerome! Please!" he begged, sobbing.

Jerome chuckled, low and gravelly, right beside Bruce's ear.

"That's not right, Brucie," Jerome said huskily.

Jerome's teeth found the lobe of Bruce's reddening ear and Bruce trembled in Jerome's grip. Bruce whimpered deliciously.

"D-daddy..." Bruce managed to whimper and Jerome gave a pleased hum, his cock throbbing in Bruce's tight heat.

He was wanton and needy for Jerome, begging for Jerome and Jerome only.

"Good boy, Brucie," Jerome whispered approving in Bruce's ear, the teen _moaning_ at the praise.

Bruce was completely flushed, sweat covering his skin, his hair completely disheveled, his lips swollen, his cock throbbing between his legs, pre-cum dripping onto the thin sheet. He was hungry for cock like a sex-starved slut. He was completely wanton. Like the perfect whore. Jerome grinned at that thought.

Jerome's hand slid from Bruce's hip, trailing down Bruce's pelvis before taking the teen's cock into his hand. Bruce jerked and stuttered out a pleasured cry when he felt Jerome's fingers curling around his cock, his hand taking hold, callouses touching his soft, warm flesh which pulsed in the ginger's grip.

"Do you like that, Brucie?" Jerome whispered huskily and Bruce whined. "Do you like getting fucked like a little bitch in heat?" Jerome asked him, eyes straying to Bruce's neck and shoulders, which were littered with bite marks and hickeys from Jerome's teeth and lips, from his teeth and lips only.

"Yes," Bruce managed to gasp out, his chest heaving as he trembled.

"Yes what, Bruce?" Jerome growled, though he was grinning.

"Yes, Daddy!" Bruce cried out as he fucked himself back against Jerome's rough thrust, the ginger's hips slamming into his backside.

"Good boy, Brucie," Jerome whispered as he stroked Bruce's cock, which throbbed hotly in his hand.

In reality, Jerome Valeska was alone in his cell in Arkham Asylum, locked away into isolation from the rest of the world, where he lay stroking himself, slowly and carefully, the need to orgasm not really present as he was mostly just entertaining himself.

In his mind's eye, he could picture sweet little Bruce Wayne in his cot, the boy's body splayed out beneath him, his back bowed in a perfect arch, his perfect ass in the air, completely needy and being fucked by Jerome and begging for it. Begging for Jerome and Jerome only. Jerome, he wanted Bruce. He wanted him a lot more than anything else. Even more than he wanted to terrorize Gotham City and its unfortunate inhabitants.

Between Gotham City and Bruce Wayne, Jerome would probably pick Bruce without any questions asked. Jerome wanted him and when Jerome Valeska wanted something, he always got it. Always. No matter the cost. That was the reality.

"More... daddy... please..." Bruce begged like a sweet little whore as Jerome brutally assaulted his sweet spot, his hips slamming into Bruce's backside.

Jerome's fingers, in his mind, were perfectly fine and his thumb was currently teasing the slit of Bruce's cock, when in reality, Jerome was carefully stroking his own cock, as his hand was bandaged from being shot. He chuckled at the thought.

A little gunplay was always fun, wasn't it? Oh, the ideas were just flooding into him, various mental images of Bruce and a gun, maybe even a knife. Mouth... cock... ass... Jerome's cock throbbed and twitched at the thought.

"Cum for me, Brucie," Jerome heard himself groan out.

"Cum for me, baby boy," Jerome ground out as he rutted into his hand, mindful of the stitches in his abdomen, and in his mind, he was pounding into Bruce's tight heat that enveloped his pulsing cock like a hot, wet, delicious and vicelike thing.

Bruce threw his head back as he came, screaming whorishly. Like a billion-dollar whore. Bruce came, moaning like a whore, Jerome's whore, and Jerome grunted as he felt Bruce's hot walls clenching down on him, sucking him in and begging him to fill it up with cum.

Jerome grunted as his own cum spurted out onto his hand, the mental version of Bruce clenching down and the needy little hole was filled up with Jerome's cum, filling up and leaking, the boy's chest heaving.

Bruce's cock pulsed in Jerome's hand and spurted onto the sheets, soiling them even more. Bruce was trembling in Jerome's grip as the teen turned his head to look at Jerome, brown eyes filled with lust and Jerome chuckled, knowing exactly what his baby boy wanted. Jerome could read Bruce like a book, both the real one and the one in his head.

Jerome pressed his lips against Bruce's and swallowed the moan Bruce let out at the feeling of Jerome's tongue poking his lips.

Bruce let him in, Jerome's tongue teasing his before exploring the moist, untouched cavern.

"You're mine, Brucie," Jerome growled after he broke the kiss, grinning madly.

"Yes," Bruce whispered as Jerome kissed him again, Bruce moaning into Jerome's mouth as their tongues battled for dominance, Jerome winning easily.

Bruce gasped as Jerome pulled away, the boy almost pouting, even as Jerome lowered himself so that his chest and belly touched Bruce's back.

Bruce looked back at him, his eyes almost sad.

"When will it be real?" Bruce asked quietly and Jerome hummed thoughtfully.

"Soon," was all Jerome said as he found himself back on his cot, in his cell, in solitary confinement in Arkham Asylum, his hand and stomach soiled with his own cum, his bandages needing changing, and the real Bruce Wayne nowhere in sight.

Jerome Valeska was many things. He was intelligent as he was cunning and determined, and he was greedy as he was dangerous. Very dangerous. He personally though it was just ambition other people didn't understand. By many quacks alike, including Strange, Jerome knew people called him a narcissistic psychopath.

He personally figured he wouldn't be this way if it hadn't been for his one bad day. _Thanks to little bro_, Jerome thought bitterly as he let go of his spent cock and sighed. Jerome had honestly thought he was going to die that day after Pengy had become the hero of Gotham (it wouldn't last long, Jerome thought) and steered Jerome's blimp from the city.

Jerome hadn't really cared whether or not he lived or if he died as he knew Jeremiah would carry on his legacy with his final zinger. One final 'Fuck you' if you would.

Though now Jerome could say it was two zingers since he was still alive, and he knew it would piss off Jeremiah more than anything. Jimbo Gordon, being the good, respectable lawman he was, had pulled Jerome to safety instead of letting him fall to his death. Instead, the dumb bastard chose to lock him back up in Arkham and anyone with even a quarter of a brain knew that it wouldn't last very long.

And Jerome knew Gordon's real reasons were selfish. He just didn't want to be known as the man who killed Jerome Valeska, even if some might see that as a good thing. It would've put Gotham City at peace, at least for a while, if Jerome had died, but maybe it was some fucked up version of destiny that he didn't.

The other zinger was the Laughing Gas Jerome had specially made for Jeremiah as a gift. His real final 'Fuck you' as it were. He wanted Jeremiah to carry on his legacy and Jerome knew Jeremiah would hate him more than he already did because of it. Because he would carry on Jerome's legacy and would never truly have one of his own, even if he tried to make himself look like the better of the two brothers. The sane brother.

As far as Jerome was concerned, he did that ungrateful bastard a favor. The Laughing Gas would just set Jeremiah free from the bondage that was sanity. Jerome was smart and he was right and he would be victorious.

Jeremiah would deny everything, Jerome knew. He would deny it until he was so deluded that he actually believed it. And Jerome knew Jeremiah would try and kill him and whether or not he was successful, Jerome didn't know yet. But he doubted it. He went down like a ton of bricks from one punch in the face.

Maybe he'd send his pretty little friend after Jerome. Then again, Jeremiah's ego would be his downfall. He couldn't stand the idea of someone else finishing what he had started. Jerome grinned. He didn't know who was easier to read. Jeremiah or Bruce.

Now, however, Jerome didn't really know what to do. He was an anarchist, through and through, and relished in the fear he struck into the hearts of Gotham City's people and he wouldn't be leaving Gotham anytime soon because really, where would he go? What other city was so ass-backwards it wouldn't give the green light on putting down the insane criminals that kept coming back for more? No matter how many times you locked them up?

No, Jerome's entire endgame had changed. He would still wreak havoc on Gotham, but it was so boring when you did it alone. He had his cult and now Jeremiah was as free as he was... but what to do?

Gotham would be terrorized, no doubt about that. Jerome was already concocting his next big plan for escape, as well as getting back at Jimbo and Pengy for spoiling his plan to have Jeremiah take up the mantle as the terror of Gotham City. Jerome definitely had a bone to pick with Pengy. Hell, just about everyone in Gotham City needed to get their comeuppance at this point. Jerome also, but that was beside the point at the moment.

Jerome figured Jeremiah was concocting his own big plan to kill Jerome and take up the mantle himself, an act that he would definitely make flamboyant and make even show all over Gotham City just to be a little bitch. It was an interesting thing, though.

Jeremiah was knocked out with one punch without the Laughing Gas, so who knew what the Laughing Gas could do? Jerome figured that Gotham and its people were in for a helluva ride, one they'd yet to see. Jimbo, Pengy, and good ol' Brucie wouldn't know what hit 'em.

Jerome's grin grew as his thoughts drifted back to Bruce. There was reason why Jerome's thoughts were so focused on Bruce Wayne. Jerome's 'hero' from the diner where they'd first met. Of course, it actually had made it easier for Jerome to kill Uncle Zack and then his crony. Kitty cat then made it easy for Jerome to get out of there, acting as a distraction for Brucie.

In all honesty, though, Bruce was just as bad as Gordon, at one point anyway, if not worse. He was like Jimbo's little protege. He respected the laws, believed there was good in everyone, that doing the right thing paid off in the end, and when he didn't believe in the good in everyone, he saw the world in black and white like a fucking comic book. Jerome could read Brucie easily.

Heroes and villains and the heroes always win. Maybe even get a hot girl at the end of the story. Good vs. bad. The respectable police and the hate worthy criminals that end up behind bars, and actually stay behind bars. Good guys and bad guys. Cops and robbers. Yadda yadda. The kid even actually seemed to think that he was some caped crusader and the protector of Gotham City.

Jerome's grin managed to grow even more, his disfigured face stretching unnaturally. A madman's grin.

Oh, what an absolute delight it would be to crush poor little Brucie's hopes and dreams that Gotham actually had heroes. Gotham had no heroes. It had the insane and the free, as well as the slightly less insane and the trapped. That was it. Every other moment it seemed the GCPD was striking up a dirty deal or a shady alliance with someone from the criminal underworld. Mooney, Falcone, Pengy, it didn't matter.

Jimbo and Sidekick would take what they could get, and the Commissioner would sweep it under the rug for 'the better of Gotham' and really, Jerome couldn't care less. Gotham had no heroes. Only killers.

Bruce was actually kind of funny in Jerome's opinion. Jerome remembered when he first met Bruce in that diner, Uncle Zack burning Jerome with the revolting soup while Lunkhead held his arms behind his back and Bruce honestly thought he was some sort of hero by helping Jerome.

_Nobody deserves that_.

Those had been Bruce's exact words and Jerome chuckled a little. Sure, no little boy with just an over creative personality and imagination deserved it, and Uncle Zack was a bastard anyway.

Looking back on it now, Jerome might've taken Bruce that night in the diner, maybe even had a little adult fun with him, even if he was a bit young back then. If Selina hadn't shown up... definitely. Then there was the mirror house, oh, that would have definitely made for an erotic sex scene. He wondered if Bruce was a voyeur by any chance. _Only one way to find out_, he thought, grinning ear to ear.

The mirror house would have been the perfect opportunity to crush Bruce's spirit. They probably would've had time too. And he still didn't forgive Gordon for punching his face off.

Jerome had plans for Gotham City. He always did and he always would for as long as he was alive and even after that, when he lived in the shadows within Gotham's discontent, not as a pawn in his own game or even the second joker on the deck of cards. Cards or chess, Jerome was not second-rate or second best.

He knew Jeremiah hated him for everything and blamed him for everything wrong in his life. And he hated it most of all that Jerome was the only reason he had met Bruce and had his name come up at all. And Jerome would piss him off more by being the one to take Brucie bear first. He knew Jeremiah wanted to be there for Bruce and the madness in him would make it all the more worse. For Bruce, that is.

Jerome could kill two birds with one stone, really. He could take Bruce, who was his, and it would piss of Jeremiah more in the long run. Jerome wasn't going to share Bruce like everything else, and that would piss of Jeremiah more.

Jerome smiled, green eyes gleaming. It would be him who helped Brucie to see the reality of this cold, evil world and he would be the one there when Bruce broke. He would be the one to make a new, better Bruce Wayne who had his eyes opened and he would guide him through this dark, hell bound city.

Jerome was the only one Bruce would ever need and the only one Bruce would ever want. Friend or fuck buddy, Jerome didn't know yet and he had a hope for the latter. But he wasn't going to share. It would be Jerome who would help Bruce to realize, before it was too late, that there were no heroes in Gotham. Only killers and those who survived, day by day.

Jerome quite liked the idea of being the king in the deck of cards. The king on the chess board. There were, two kings, however. And one king always had to go down for the game to be finished. Jerome wasn't going to be a pawn in Jeremiah's sad attempt to make a new name for himself and his delusions of grandeur.

Jerome's endgame, the main performance of the big show, his endgame, the most important part of the games. After all, Jerome's new endgame? Bruce Wayne.


	2. Not an Update

As an apology for not updating for more months than I'd like to admit, I edited and added to the first chapter. The second one will be up and have apology smut and I'm going to be honest. I still have not watched Gotham. I want to sit down and watch it but that is really hard as I hate everyone except Jerome but I'll do it! But I'm pretty sure someone said that the finale was awful, like Game of Thrones, and I saw a bit of it and I was like fuck that. Well, not in this story which will be finished and all requests will be fulfilled as promised. I can't promise weekly, but I can promise more than every month and it will be finished before another big time gap. I got really into Fear and so that's part of why I stopped writing this. I want to thank the people who left kudos on this and the people who commented. I probably won't continue the other three stories so I might just change those to finished, unless I randomly add a thought up one-shot that doesn't align to this story. There will be a jealous Jerome or I will die trying. Special thanks to everyone who reads this stories and special shout out to phantomgirl96. See you all at the next chapter which will have smut as promised! Also, sorry if this got any hopes up about being an update... Still, see you in Chapter Two! Bruce won't like it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I started at S4 E18, not even at the first episode, and made my way to No Man's Land. I know bits and pieces from Youtube and other fanfiction, that's it  
\- In this, because I say so, Bruce didn't screw around and didn't act like a douchebag(as Selina put it) and didn't lose his virginity to someone who wasn't Jerome or Jeremiah and there's two reasons for that  
\- Jerome, obviously, ain't dead and it follows the plot of That Old Corpse(Ep. 20) but Jerome is actually alive and I'll probably reference the later episodes leading up to No Man's Land but it takes longer for obvious reasons and this one will be a lot darker than the original. More psychological breakdowns, a lot of fear toxin, and sex. Lots of that and still taking requests and still planning on fulfilling the already existent ones. And I probably won't have the other characters unless they post plot value at those moments. It's most about the twins and Brucie bear  


"Hello, brother."

Those words used to send such a cold shiver of fear, maybe even terror, down Jeremiah's spine when he was a boy. The voice always so taunting and those very words had always haunted him even so many years later, but now all he can feel is that same burning resentment he'd always had towards his twin. Pale but bright green eyes look up to glare at Jerome's disfigured face, which, as always, was grinning wickedly.

In hindsight, Jerome's escape from Arkham Asylum was expected as it was inevitable. Yet again. The guards were mediocre at best or lodged securely underneath Jerome's thumb. With the latter, it was most likely out of fear or deluded loyalty. Or they were dead. Jeremiah just hadn't expected the escape to happen so quickly and it made him wary if not further annoyed because he was to be having Bruce in his bunker in just a few short days.

"I gotta say, such an unexpected turn of events," Jerome says casually, strutting around as though he was expected company and had been welcomed into Jeremiah's abode.

The only thing Jeremiah does now is raise an eyebrow, which is now green. A gift from the psychotic soul in front of him. Jeremiah refused to give Jerome any sort of indication that he was afraid or angry.

"Why are you here?" Jeremiah asks, his voice cold and distant. Emotionless.

Jerome's grin manages to grow, the scarred, discolored cheeks stretching around his mouth.

"Always so serious. Can't a guy give his brother a visit?" Jerome asks, still grinning.

The words make Jeremiah's eyes harden, visibly. They only make him grow angrier than he already is and what makes Jeremiah even more furious is that Jerome knows exactly what he's doing. It's why he does it at all.

"James Gordon should have let you fall," Jeremiah says.

He doesn't say the words in a spiteful tone. He just says it in a clear, almost bored voice, as though he's stating nothing more than a simple fact. One he firmly believes in. Jeremiah knows that Jerome doesn't care and it wouldn't have mattered if he had said it with venom in his voice, like he genuinely wanted. Therefore, it would've been pointless.

"Yeah, he probably should have," Jerome agrees, his grin dimming to a small, almost pleasant little smile that Jeremiah secretly finds unsettling, though it's not much of a secret as he knows that Jerome knows.

"Why are you here?" Jeremiah repeats his earlier question, wondering what sort of twisted game Jerome was trying to play this time.

Jerome huffs and Jeremiah can see that he is still injured from his previous encounter with Captain Gordon. Three bullets and three wounds. One in his arm, another in his hand, and the third is in his abdomen, a near fatal shot. Though, it is rather unsettling to see particularly white stains on his Arkham uniform.

"This wasn't my big plan, Jeremiah," Jerome says and Jeremiah knows that he is telling the truth. "I expected I'd die, falling from that building and onto some poor sucker's car. You got my little message," he says, now pointing at his own face and grinning again, referring to the fact that Jeremiah, because of him, now has green hair, pale but bright green eyes, skin so pale that it is nearly white, and dark red lips. Discoloration from the Laughing Gas, which is most likely permanent. "I thought it was my time and you would carry on my legacy. My final screw you," Jeremiah's eyes narrow at that. "Then, Jim dear messed all that up for the both of us and here I am now, annoying you."

He aims the shotgun in his hands at the walls around them, still smiling. Personally, Jeremiah doesn't really care how Jerome obtained the weapon or who he killed to get it. Or who he's killed tonight with it.

"So, now what?" Jeremiah asks, not really caring.

Jerome's grin grows, demented and wicked.

"See, the thing is, I know you, better than anyone else. Outside, you play the part of a goodie-goodie. The good son. But inside, you're just as crazy as I am. And if I want something, you want it too," Jerome says. "I know you want Gotham, but there's something you want more than that."

While Jeremiah's expression appears indifferent, Jerome knows that he's piqued his brother's interest. And he knows exactly what Jeremiah wants more than control over Gotham City. The seed of discord has been planted, and now it sprouts and will continue to grow.

"And what, pray tell, is it that I could ever want more than this godforsaken, pitiful city?" Jeremiah asks, keeping his voice perfectly low and calm even though Jerome can see through his facade.

Jerome's grin turns into the smile of a madman.

"Something I know you'll really hate sharing. Or, should I say, some_one_," Jerome says and Jeremiah makes a soft hum of displeasure, pointlessly feigning ignorance. "Here's the thing, brother. You want to kill me, even more than most people, and you really want to make a show of it. I expected nothing else when Jimbo saved my life, but I want a little more fun before I go," Jerome says before a thoughtful expression crosses his scarred face. "_If_ I do," he adds before smiling again. "_If_ and when I do go, I'd rather go out with a real bang. Maybe by one of those little bombs of yours," Jerome says, aiming the shotgun at Jeremiah's blueprints.

Jeremiah ignores the simple fact that Jerome always knows. That Jerome will most likely always know. Though, he is quite curious as to why and how Jerome is talking so easily about dying. Almost as though he thinks he's talking about nothing more important and simple than the weather.

"So, as they put it; the enemy of some other ass, is my buddy," Jerome says.

"That is not how the phrase goes at all," Jeremiah says, now unimpressed.

"Sure, sure. Point is, you want Gotham and a special little buddy of mine. Sooner, rather than later, obviously. Well, you can get both so long as we have a little fun first. And I know, that if I'm obsessed with this particular little buddy, which I very much am, then so are you," Jerome says. "So, you get to have Gotham and this little buddy, and I get to have some more fun. With a side of little buddy. Whatever happens next, happens."

Jeremiah is interested, he will admit that much. But he does wonder just what exactly Jerome has planned. He has never valued sanity or being reasonable. He is an anarchist, and Jeremiah thinks nothing else of him. Jerome sought to destroy things that others built. Nothing more, and nothing less. And yet Jeremiah also has an idea of who the _little buddy_ is, and he cannot yet tell if he is secretly delighted in the idea or obviously disgusted.

Delighted, because he can have what he wants sooner rather than later and Jerome does have a level of intelligence to him. And has the people to support him. Though, disgusted because he has to work with Jerome of all people, and while his people are useful, their faith is, in Jeremiah's mind, severely misplaced.

"What exactly are you proposing?" Jeremiah asks carefully.

Jerome hums, smiling pleasantly as though he isn't a wanted lunatic. Dead or alive, though preferably, to many, dead.

"A partnership," Jerome says and Jeremiah's lips curve downwards into a frown, and then he's scowling. "I know, I know, you hate the idea of sharing the spotlight let alone something, or in this case, some_one_, with me. Especially somebody you'll see as nothing more than your little toy. But, we can have a lot of fun together, you and I. You just have to help me obtain two things," Jerome says, looking ready to start laughing.

Jeremiah stares at him, his mind working through all possible scenarios, good and bad. He knows that there are all sorts of downsides to allying himself to this madman. To this psychopath who's only purpose is to destroy. And if Jerome fails yet again, and Jeremiah's name is thrown into the mixture more than it already has been, then he may lose a very valued element and many cards. At the same time, he does know that Jerome can be a key piece in making his claim on Gotham City.

"And what are those two things?" Jeremiah asks, weighing his options carefully.

_Very_ carefully.

Jerome grins a predator's grin.

"A jar of honey--" Jeremiah's eyebrow goes up, curious and maybe revolted. "-- and Bruce Wayne."

**********

"You are my very best friend."

Bruce stares at Jeremiah, his heart hurting from the betrayal of the person he thought he could call his friend despite everything Jerome has done to the both of them.

When Gordon had pulled Jerome to safety, rather than letting him fall to his death, it raised a lot of eyebrows and Bruce knew Alfred was unhappy with the fact. The GCPD had arrested Jerome and before Jeremiah could leave the scene, Bruce had offered him a position at Wayne Enterprises as himself instead of an alias. He had just wanted to help Jeremiah in any way he could so that he could get away from Jerome's dark legacy and the trail of blood and bodies. He had honestly considered Jeremiah his friend...

And then Jerome had broken out of Arkham and had started yet another act of terror. All of his followers, his cult, had thrown a party inside of the police department in honor of Jerome's survival and yet Jerome was nowhere to be seen the entire time. Bruce had been with Jeremiah in his bunker at the time, and Jeremiah had confessed to Bruce that Jerome had sent him a package of insanity gas and Bruce knew, or thought he knew, that Jeremiah was scared and even then Bruce just wanted to help him in any way he could. Because he thought Jeremiah was his friend.

When Jeremiah had taken him to the cemetery to see his mother's grave, Bruce had been wary. At the same time, he had honestly thought it would somehow help Jeremiah to gain the strength to fight back against the fear Jerome had created. Bruce had been played like a fool. He just never expected Jeremiah to side with Jerome of all people.

Jeremiah gives Bruce a warm, rather tender smile, quite different than the cold, emotionless frown he had given Jerome's followers after ruthlessly murdering one of them, and Bruce tries not to shiver from how strange he looks now that he's removed the makeup.

Jerome's face, cut off after he died and then stitched and stapled back on after he came back, permanently scarred over and disfigured, was one thing... but Jeremiah is different. His skin is so pale that it's almost white, his eyes are pale green but they're very bright and yet they can be so cold, almost as though they're staring blankly at nothing, and his lips are so red.

There is no redemption for Jeremiah. Not after what he's done to Gordon. Not after helping Jerome kill him.

Jeremiah presses a hand to Bruce cheek, cupping his face and at once the teen flinches away but then Jeremiah is holding his face in both hands and it feels weird. He's smiling at Bruce in a way that he's unfamiliar with. It seems both fond and affectionate, but there's some sort of bitterness underneath.

"Most unfortunately," Jeremiah says. "I do owe Jerome a jar of honey."

Jerome's followers laugh and Bruce's stomach feels queasy. Jeremiah had said that something mad was Jerome wanting to slather Bruce in honey and feed him to corpse beetles.

"See, the thing is, Bruce, if not for Jim Gordon, things would be playing out quite a bit differently than they are now. You will see, in time, the benefits of what I am offering," Jeremiah says as he runs his thumb over Bruce's lower lip, not letting go of the teen's head despite the instant, full-body jerk.

He doesn't know why Jeremiah is touching his face like this and it makes him uncomfortable. He doesn't like it.

Jeremiah's eyes have lost the coldness, now soft and filled with fond affection, almost as though he's looking at a _lover_ rather than friend turned enemy. Bruce doesn't know why Jeremiah is looking at him in such a way, and he's almost scared of the reason behind it.

"And if I had not been the one to end Gordon's life, it surely would've been you. It is, after all, his fault you are in this... predicament."

Jeremiah smiles, warm and tender, his eyes the same, and then he kisses him. Bruce's eyes widen with shock and confusion and at once he tries to break free from the follower's grips, but they tighten painfully and hold him in place despite the oddity of the situation... not that they care, really, since Jeremiah is the reason Gordon is dead.

It feels strange, having another person's lips against his own and Bruce feels uncomfortable to know that not only has Jeremiah Valeska stolen his first kiss, but in front of Jerome's followers. And Jeremiah is everything but patient at the moment, deepening the kiss despite Bruce's obvious discomfort and struggles. Bruce inhales sharply when he feels something wet against his lips, knowing it's Jeremiah's _tongue_, and he can't help but gasp and then he regrets it almost instantly.

Bruce feels Jeremiah's tongue pushing into his mouth, trying to touch his own and it feels like he's trying to dominate the kiss, and it feels so strange and he can hear the followers murmuring to each other and he can even hear two of the girls fawning over the scene. He bites Jeremiah's tongue, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough.

Jeremiah pulls away, actually looking _hurt_ and _confused_. Almost as though he doesn't understand why Bruce would've rejected his kiss and then it hurt his feelings. Bruce almost feels bad despite everything, but his hatred for Jeremiah's actions makes him change his mind. That, and the fact of the matter is, he tricked Bruce into using his company to fund Jeremiah's weapons.

"That was hot, do it again."

Bruce stiffens while Jerome's followers erupt into loud cheers as the redhead approaches, a shotgun sitting over his shoulder as he grins his usual, demented grin.

Jerome is then surrounded by his followers, who are all applauding him and congratulating him on being alive and they chant, "Long live Jerome!" over and over again. Even the two still holding onto Bruce's arms chant with the rest of them, all of them having delighted looks on their faces.

Jeremiah is the only one, aside from Bruce, who is not so pleased to see Jerome's face. His eyes lose the tenderness and turn cold and emotionless, but Bruce knows that he's furious at the followers' cheering.

"Why did you do that?" Bruce whispers, his knees feeling weak as his lips still tingle from the kiss.

Jeremiah turns his head, now looking at Bruce again and the fondness returns as he repeats his earlier action, stroking his thumb over Bruce's lower lip.

"Best friends are known to become _more_," Jeremiah says, smiling as he kisses Bruce again and Bruce struggles to break free from the two followers' grips but they hold him tighter, as though _wanting_ to _watch_ Jeremiah kiss him.

One even grabs the back of his head when he tries to pull away, fingers tangling into Bruce's hair and keeping his head still along with Jeremiah's hands as the ginger keeps kissing him, tongue poking at his lips.

When Jeremiah finally breaks the kiss, the next thing Bruce feels is something hard hitting the back of his head, blackness clouding over his vision and the last thing he sees is Jeremiah's smiling face before he's unconscious.

**********

Bruce is kissing Selina.

He's dreaming, not that he knows that yet, but he's kissing her in the rain. It would have been a romantic setting, had the scene not changed.

Selina pulls away, suddenly grinning in a way that doesn't make Bruce think of Selina Kyle, but of a murderous, psychotic redhead that has haunted Bruce's nightmares since that night at the carnival. Then, her eyes are suddenly pale instead of deep, and bright instead of dark. And instead of brown, they're green. Selina strokes his hair, but her hand feels much larger than a woman's hand.

Bruce feels the creep of consciousness crawling up his spine and he groans as pain throbs in the back of his head. He remembers being in Jeremiah's bunker... then going to the cemetery... Jeremiah's betrayal and reveal... his alliance with Jerome... Gordon's death... and then he remembers that Jeremiah had kissed him.

Bruce blinks, squinting his eyes as they adjust to the brightness of the room he's in and he can still feel a large hand running through his hair, fingers threading through the dark locks. Bruce looks up and sees Jeremiah smiling down at him, the same tender, almost loving smile from the cemetery, but then he realizes that there's more than one hand running through his hair. There's another hand, definitely not Jeremiah's other hand, which is currently holding Bruce's, and he looks to his other side to see Jerome grinning down at him, but it's not smug or demented like usual. It's a grin that clearly knows something Bruce doesn't.

"Well, good morning, sleepyhead," Jerome chuckles lowly and Bruce widens as he slowly comprehends the situation he's in.

"Where am I?" Bruce asks at once.

"Someplace safe," Jeremiah says simply, and cryptically.

"Where am I?" Bruce asks again.

"Safe," Jeremiah repeats, just as cryptic.

"Where?" Bruce asks, not asking anymore.

"Questions, questions, too many questions," Jerome says, clicking his tongue.

Bruce tries to sit up but Jerome grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back, ignoring Bruce's sharp cry and pulls his head back down. Bruce can't help the whimper that escapes him as pain flares up in the back of his head... which is on a pillow, he can tell.

"Why am I here?" Bruce asks, a strange sense of foreboding pooling in the pit of his stomach.

Jerome's grin grows and Bruce doesn't like the look of _knowing_.

"Well, Brucie boy, we're gonna have some fun," Jerome says.

Jeremiah makes a humming sound, clearly disapproving and quite annoyed.

Jerome turns Bruce's head so that he's looking at the redhead and Bruce somehow knows what's coming before it even happens, but he's still not fully prepared for the feeling of Jerome's lips against his.

The first thing he can think of is how different they feel when comparing them to Jeremiah's. Whereas Jeremiah's were soft, Jerome's are rough and chapped. Scarred.

Bruce's eyes widen and he tries to pull away but Jerome's grip doesn't lessen. The moment he feels Jerome's tongue against his lips, he bites it just like Jeremiah's, only harder, almost enough to draw blood, and Jerome pulls away, except he's still grinning. He doesn't even look like the bite fazed him in the slightest.

"Oh, the nasty jokes I could make right now," Jerome says before kissing Bruce again, rougher this time.

Bruce whimpers, growing scared and beyond confused, and he tries to pull away and swing a punch with the hand held by Jeremiah's, but the soft touches change at once and Jeremiah holds Bruce's wrist tightly, pinning it to the bed the teen quickly realizes they're all on. Bruce on his back, Jeremiah on his bottom, and Jerome on his knees. Jerome dominates his mouth, his tongue licking at the teen's lips, and Bruce whimpers again.

_This isn't happening... this isn't happening..._

His mind can't comprehend everything that has happened in just one day and everything that's happening now. Jeremiah had betrayed him and used him like a pawn in a dirty game and had allied himself to Jerome despite portraying himself as terrified. Jeremiah, Bruce realizes, really is as insane as Jerome is, but he had said the gas had done nothing to his mental state. Gordon is dead... Jeremiah had kissed him... now _Jerome Valeska_ is kissing him... _Jerome Valeska_ is kissing Bruce Wayne...

Jerome breaks the kiss, chuckling huskily and it sends an odd, unpleasant shiver down Bruce's spine.

"You remember our deal," Jeremiah then says, his tone dark and full of warning.

Bruce doesn't know what they're talking about and he doesn't want to. He just wants to go home. He wants to go home to Alfred, pretend this never happened or wake up and realize this was all just some sick, twisted dream and that he was never kissed by either Valeska brother and Gordon is perfectly fine behind his desk at the GCPD.

"Let me go," Bruce says, though his voice is more feeble than he would have liked.

"Don't forget," Jerome says, both brothers ignoring Bruce for the moment. "Numbers aren't exactly to your advantage, and I knew him first."

Those words make Bruce think of two siblings fighting over something as stupid as a toy.

_I had it first!_ One sibling says.

_No, I did!_ Says the other.

Jeremiah's eyes harden, showing his bitter resentment.

"Very well then," Jeremiah says, but Bruce and Jerome know it's a reluctant thing.

_Very_ reluctant.

Bruce's breath hitches, his eyes widening, when he feels a hand on his belt and his thoughts seem to flat-like like a heart monitor, his own seeming to stop beating, when he understands what it is the brothers want. Bruce has had The Talk with Alfred. He knows what sex is... but the idea... the very incomprehensible, fathomless thought of having sex with the Valeska brothers... either one...

"Let go of me!" Bruce yelled, trying to pull away and swing his other fist but Jerome takes hold of it, pinning it next to his head, copying Jeremiah as Bruce thrashes. "Let go!"

Bruce's heart hammers in his chest. He has to get out of... wherever he is. He has to get back to Alfred or even get to the police department... There's still Detective Bullock... He has too--

He thrashes, though his mind seems unable to decide between Fight or Flight, and it does him no good. Jerome is stronger than he is and surprisingly, so is Jeremiah, and neither brother are close enough for Bruce to kick and Bruce is _afraid_. He wants to run and go home, pretend this never happened, right after he has a repeat of the mirror house and punches Jerome over and over again, every one of his nerves feeling on edge and he feels like he could lash out, as though the adrenaline coursing through him could give him the push he needs, but at the same time he feels frozen, like an animal caught in someone's headlights.

Bruce trembles, chest heaving with gasps that quickly grow terrified, as he feels Jeremiah's hand trying to undo his belt, the ginger eyeing him with a predatory grin and Bruce turns his body so he's lying on his side, though he's facing Jerome now, and it makes Jeremiah move his hand.

"Don't do this..." Bruce begs then. "Don't... anything else... not this... not this..."

Jeremiah hums thoughtfully as Jerome chuckles.

"Careful what you wish for, Brucie," Jerome says as Jeremiah clicks his tongue in a disapproving manner and Bruce flinches when he feels Jeremiah's lips touching his ear, breath ghosting over the flesh and making him shiver.

"It would be quite a shame if anything happened to your faithful butler. More so, if your lack of compliance was the cause," Jeremiah says, his words making Bruce's eyes widen, his heart stop, his stomach fall, and his blood run _cold_. "Wouldn't you agree, Bruce?"

Bruce turns his head back to look at Jeremiah, his eyes impossibly wide and terrified for Alfred's well-being. They can't have gotten him... could they? Selina had said that the security around the manner was lame...

He's terrified. Of both Jerome and Jeremiah and what may happen to him... but the thought of anything happening to Alfred after everything is what keeps him in place. Trapping him like an animal. His fear for Alfred overpowers the disgust he feels.

"Where is he?!" Bruce demands, his heart pounding in his chest.

Fear for what they will do to Alfred keeps him still, or as Jeremiah had put it... _compliant_.

"Where he currently is, that is not what is important right now. What _is_ important, is that like a good boy, Bruce, you _obey_," Jeremiah says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Bruce doesn't like how Jeremiah put it. Almost as though Jeremiah sees him as nothing more than a pet that needed to obey it's master's command, but then he feels sick. Nauseous even, at the very idea of having sex with the Valeska brothers. By force makes him want to actually cry. Even one brother was a foreign, alien, and dangerous thought in Bruce's mind. Especially Jerome. But _both_ of them... at the same time... Bruce trembled, his insides feeling as though ice was prickling at them. He wanted to go home. He wanted Alfred, who was perfectly find and safe and sound at Wayne Manor, to tell him that this was just a really bad nightmare. Not that Bruce would go into detail, but still...

It made him sicker to think that so long as he complied, then Alfred would be safe... but how did he know that the brothers would keep their words? Jerome was crazy and Jeremiah was the same.

"You're... you're lying..." Bruce says, though he's not so sure if he believes his own words.

"Am I?" Jeremiah asks, now looking very displeased.

"Trust me, Bruce," Jerome says and Bruce bites his lip to suppress his whimper. The idea of _trusting_ Jerome was ludicrous in itself. "He's not lying. And Baggy's been making a new batch of toxin that I'm sure Alfred would _love_ to try out."

Bruce knows it's not a bluff. He just knows and he's scared for Alfred and for himself.

"Now, are you going to behave like a good boy? Or are there going to be problems?" Jeremiah asks and the words make Bruce's insides _crawl_ and _burn_.

They crawl because he's scared and they burn because he hates this. He hates that Jeremiah and Jerome think they can treat him like this and use him in this way... but if he wants to protect Alfred...

Bruce flinched. Alfred would resent the idea of Bruce giving into the twins for anything... but this... this was something else. Something much darker. Something much, much worse... Alfred wouldn't forgive him. He'd be livid. He was stubborn like that but Bruce knew that for right now, he had no other options. He at least knew that he and Alfred would come out alive... but he also knew that these wounds might never heal, turning into scars that may never fade... but so long as Alfred was alive, unharmed, and safe...

"Let him go," Bruce murmurs, his eyes begging. Desperate. "Don't hurt him, please."

"You're not in much of a position to be bargaining for anything, Bruce," Jeremiah says, not unkindly but simply.

Bruce's lip quivers, but he has to protect Alfred. He just has to.

"I'll... I'll..." his tongue feels like a foreign object in his mouth, his stomach feeling nauseous. "I'll comply... _obey_... just... just let him go... don't hurt him," he begs, hating himself.

Jeremiah and Jerome share a look. Bruce knows, personally, that Jerome doesn't care about anything other than causing mayhem and killing innocent people while permanently scarring, physically and mentally, others. He's not so sure about Jeremiah and that scares him even more.

"We'll think about it. If you are a very good boy, he goes. If you're the slightest bit naught, he might just lose a valued body part," Jeremiah says and Bruce feels the coldness of fear strike his core. "A _very_ valued part," Jeremiah adds darkly.

Jerome lets go of his wrist then, and it takes all of Bruce's self restraint not to turn his hand into a fist and swing. Jerome grins while Jeremiah runs his fingers through Bruce's hair, petting him like some kind of puppy or kitten. Bruce's legs quiver, thighs trembling, as Jerome turns his body so he's lying on his back again. He flinches when he feels Jerome's hands, calloused and rough, touching him and lifting up his shirt. Bruce realizes he was stripped of his jacket sometime in his state of unconscious, and then his entire form is shaking as Jerome pulls up his shirt, revealing his stomach.

"You work out," Jerome purrs as he runs his fingertips over Bruce's belly, grinning wickedly at the shiver he gets in reply.

Bruce whimpers, hand gripping the blanket underneath him while Jeremiah lets go of his other wrist, instead taking hold of his hand and threading their fingers together. The gesture would be sweet, if the circumstances were much different. Bruce feels his eyes sting as tears well in them when he feels Jerome's hands on his belt, the clinking sound seemingly amplified as it echoes in his ears... then Jerome is undoing the button of his jeans and he's slow about it. He even pulls down the zipper with his teeth as Jeremiah shifts and moves, lying down next to Bruce and making sure that his face is level with the teen's.

"Don't--" Bruce starts to plead but Jeremiah silences him with another kiss.

Bruce can't hold back his tears and he feels them sliding down his temples and he whimpers into the kiss as he feels Jerome's hand suddenly cupping his groin and it jumps at the touch, which feels so _strange_ and so _wrong_. Bruce doesn't like it. His thoughts didn't and he was sure his body didn't either, but his body seems to betray his mind when Jeremiah's hand slides up his shirt, fingers brushing against his belly and chest, making the shirt ride up and Bruce felt so bare even though he was still clothed.

He knew he could fight back. Could bite Jeremiah's lips and break the skin, maybe even bite his tongue if he tried to force it into Bruce's mouth again... maybe even kick Jerome in the face when he feels the redhead leave his side and maneuver himself so that he's by Bruce's legs... but the mental image of Alfred, beat up and bloody, tied up and held hostage somewhere, the threat of death looming over him, keeps the fight down.

Bruce's grip on the blanket and Jeremiah's hand tightens when Jerome is lifting his legs, settling himself between them. He can't do this... he can't do this...

Alfred. Beaten and bloody, tied up and held hostage in some dark, dirty basement. A gun to his head... a knife to his throat... the GCPD doesn't find him in time...

_Alfred will be safe... Alfred will be safe..._ Bruce repeats in his head, not sure if he can really believe it but he has to hold onto something. He can't risk it.

Jeremiah's hands on his chest feel like a heavy weight is pressing down on him. Bruce gasps as fingers brush over a nipple and then Jeremiah is smirking smugly. Bruce trembles as Jeremiah's fingers, his thumb and his index, take hold and tease the spot and Bruce bites his lip, trying to hold back the gasp. It feels so strange and so wrong and yet... it didn't feel so bad. It actually feels sort of good.

He feels heat swelling in his belly and then his nether regions and it doesn't go unnoticed by either brothers. He feels his face grow warm with shame and embarrassment as Jeremiah makes a pleased purring sound.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" Jeremiah whispers in his ear and Bruce grimaces.

He instead whimpers when he feels Jerome's hand sliding over his belly, fingers and palms purposefully dragging over the skin, sending butterflies fluttering in his insides. He lets out a strangled gasp when he feels Jerome's hand going into his pants, fingers brushing against his most sensitive area and it jumped in the touch. He whines. Not liking that his traitorous body actually _likes_ the touch.

"St-st--" Bruce cuts himself off.

If he asks them to stop... they may and then Alfred will be hurt... because of him... Then again, even if he does ask them to stop, they probably won't and will hurt Alfred anyway...

Bruce flinches when he feels Jeremiah's breath on his skin, the older man's nose brushing over his ear and he lets go of the blanket in favor of grabbing onto Jeremiah's shoulder, as though he's going to push him away but his fear makes him hold on tightly. He can tell the action pleases Jeremiah, and it makes him disgusted with himself.

In the cemetery, Bruce thinks that he should've fought Jerome's followers. Thrashed until they let go and since he was one against many, he should've at least tried to run for it. He knows that he didn't fight as much as he could've, and he knows that maybe he wouldn't be in this exact situation...

He was scared, but he knew it was a pathetic excuse. He had told Jeremiah not to be afraid of Jerome, but here he was now... hardly fighting back and taking it... even if it was to protect Alfred... and Bruce was about to be--

Bruce choked on a gasp when he felt Jerome's hand slipping into his boxers and touching him _there_. Without meaning to, he bucked up into the touch, and whined pitifully at the feeling of warm, calloused fingers touching his soft flesh. He bit his tongue, trying to hold back his moan, and his fingers dug into Jeremiah's shoulder as Jerome's other hand pulled down his pants and underwear, the first one wrapping around Bruce's cock and starting to stroke him. His hand felt so warm against Bruce's flesh and Bruce hated himself because he felt his belly stirring with a heat he'd never felt before.

It was in the pit of his belly and he could feel himself stirring in Jerome's hand. His cock, his private area, swells with heat and Bruce couldn't have stopped the whine even if he had tried, and he really did, when Jerome let go. He flushed as he unintentionally tried to thrust upwards into the madman's touch.

Jeremiah gave him a small smile, almost smug but displeased at the same time while Jerome's grin was completely smug and definitely pleased. Bruce felt his legs shake, the limbs feeling like jelly and he can't even bring himself to kick at the redhead when Jerome pulls his pants and undergarments from his person... his shoes coming off at the same time and Jerome teases him with the socks and heat floods into his face, his cheeks burning, as both Jeremiah and Jerome look at his lower body... which is now completely exposed.

"Puberty hit you like a brick," Jerome says, still grinning.

"So beautiful," Jeremiah whispers in Bruce's ear and Bruce can't help it.

Bruce sobs as Jerome starts stroking him again, trying to ignore the fact that pre-cum is slowly starting to bead at the quickly flaring tip. Bruce tries to ignore the fact that some dirty, nasty part of him actually _likes_ the feeling of Jerome touching him as Jeremiah whispers sweet words into his ear as he rolls Bruce's nipple between his thumb and index finger.

Although he's had The Talk, Bruce has never actually done anything like this before. He'd never really thought of it before and even though there had been times where he had thought about kissing Selina, and had even come close to doing so, he'd never actually considered something like this. But now Jeremiah and Jerome had ruined that for him. Jeremiah had stolen Bruce's first kiss and now... Jerome Valeska was giving him his first hand job and then--

Bruce threw his head back into the pillow and he _moaned_ at sudden feeling of Jerome's tongue, wet and hot, on his cock. His mouth falls open, a whimper escaping him as Jerome licks the tip, swirling his tongue around the head, the wetness so warm and so good and then Jerome was taking it into his mouth.

The wet heat envelopes just the tip of his cock with ease that seems almost practiced, and then Jerome was swallowing him down and heat pulsed like a heartbeat in Bruce's cock as Jeremiah teased his sensitive bud, Jerome applying suction and Bruce cried out, hips jutting upwards and his hand gripped Jeremiah's shoulders until his knuckle turned white. Bruce suddenly felt himself twitching, his belly and loins tightening, and then he was cumming. He squealed, crying out his moan as his hips stuttered and jerked, Jerome's hands holding them down, as Jeremiah gave a harsh pinch to his nipple and Bruce mewled, the sharp pain mingling with the warm pleasure. He thrust into Jerome's mouth, panting as his climax coursed through him.

Bruce fell back onto the bed, his chest heaving, feeling so sweaty and gross and so guilty. All he could think about was how could that had felt... and how much he had enjoyed it and the fact that he wasn't fighting the men responsible for Gordon's death. Who were also Alfred's kidnappers. Bruce sobbed as Jerome chuckled around his cock, the vibrations making his cock flood with heat, before the redhead was pulling off and Bruce's flesh darkened at the audible, intentional wet popping sound.

"Such a good boy, Bruce," Jeremiah murmured as he kissed Bruce's jaw, nipping at the skin and sucking on the flesh.

Bruce didn't feel like a good boy. He felt like the most horrible person in all of Gotham City. Maybe even in the world.

"Get over the hero complex, conquistador," Jerome says and Bruce looks at him through teary eyes, not liking the image of Jerome between his legs, his cock inches from the redhead's swollen lips. "It was cute at first, but now it's just sad."

Jeremiah gives Jerome a dirty look when Jerome looks back down at Bruce's intimate area.

"Our deal," Jeremiah says darkly.

"The deal was that I had first dibs, so technically speaking, you broke the deal," Jerome says, giving Jeremiah a smug look.

"Not... I'm not... a toy..." Bruce murmured as more tears fell.

He couldn't believe what had just happened. In just one day, he'd fallen right into Jeremiah's trapped... was partially kidnapped for Gordon's death... had been kissed by a madman... had been kidnapped, again... and had his first hand job and his first blowjob stolen by Jerome Valeska of all people. And now... Bruce whimpered, the fear mingling with the afterglow... they were arguing about who got to take his _virginity_.

Almost as though he was just some toy to them. A mere plaything for them... for sex.

"You know I'll win," Jerome says and even though Bruce can tell that Jeremiah is pissed, the man relents, settling for glaring at Jerome.

Bruce shivered, letting out a cry as Jerome pushed his legs up and spread them, leaving the teen open for the redhead to see. Bruce cried out, back arching, when he felt Jerome's breath back _there_ and then he could feel Jerome licking down from his cock to his balls, the heat flaring up instantly, and he couldn't even gasp when he felt Jerome touching him back _there_. With his _tongue_.

Bruce let out a soundless whimper as Jeremiah stroked his sweaty hair and teased his other bud while Jerome licked at his hole and when Bruce tried to pull away, Jeremiah gripped his hair and Jerome gripped his thighs. Painfully.

"Please..."Bruce begged, though he wasn't sure if the foggy heat clouding his mind made him beg for it to stop... or if it made him beg for _more_.

He sucked in a breath when he felt Jerome's fingers brushing his rim, his body clenching down on instinct.

"If you clench, it will hurt more, Bruce," Jeremiah murmured.

"Don't..." Bruce tried to beg once more but his pleas were ignored.

His breath was caught in his throat when he felt Jerome's index finger pushing into his hole, pushing past his rim and breaching his innermost area. Bruce couldn't exactly say that it was uncomfortable, but it was a foreign feeling and he didn't like it. He whined as Jerome lapped at his hole, his finger exploring Bruce's untouched body. It did become uncomfortable when a second finger was added and Bruce whimpered as pain pierced through the pleasurable heat, feeling a burn as his body was stretched. It _hurt_.

"Relax, love," Jeremiah murmured before kissing him again.

Bruce openly sobbed into the kiss, unable to fight and break away, and he did try to relax but it hurt and he was still scared. He was about to lose this part of himself to Jerome Valeska of all people without his consent... God... what would Alfred think? He'd be so livid... at the twins... and at Bruce for giving in... What would Selina think? She'd be so disgusted... with the twins for doing it and Bruce for giving in... Gordon and Bullock? They'd be so disgusted too... betrayed even... disgusted at the twins and feeling as though Bruce betrayed them... Bruce didn't think he could handle the idea of anyone besides himself, Jeremiah, and Jerome knowing that he was about to lose his first time to Jerome Valeska.

Bruce's toes curled into the sheets, the pain quickly overtaking the pleasure, as Jerome added a third finger. It hurt worse. He broke the kiss, turning his head away, trying to ignore Jeremiah's soothing words in his ear and the sweet, butterfly soft kisses that were given to his ear and neck. Jerome stretched him, slowly, thankfully, with scissoring motions that burned and Bruce tried not to clench down but it was a hard thing. He tried to focus instead on the warm feeling he was getting from having his chest touched and then Jeremiah was running his other hand down Bruce's belly, down to his pelvis, and then wrapping his hand around Bruce's cock with slow, measured strokes. He gave Bruce pleasure to distract him from the pain.

Bruce's head swayed from side to side, the hand that Jeremiah had let go finding its way to the blanket, gripping it tightly, the other still holding onto Jeremiah's shoulder. Slowly, the pain started to ebb away, fading back into a strange sort of pleasure. His cock stirred and throbbed in Jeremiah's hand as the ginger slowly stroked him and Jerome fingered him. Pre-cum beaded from the tip of his cock as Jeremiah whispered in his ear about what a good boy he was and how good he was doing. Jerome even murmured gorgeous even though Bruce didn't feel that way.

Something he actually noticed was that Jerome's fingers were not moving around without a reason... it actually seemed like he was looking for something--

"Oh! Oh!"

Bruce threw his head back and _moaned_.

His cock jumped and pulsed as stars and blackness danced as one in his eyes when Jerome's fingers brushed something inside of his body. Deep inside of him.

Through hazy eyes, Bruce saw Jerome grinning, ear to ear.

"_Found it_," Jerome sang, taunting and smug, as he kept pushing his fingers against that spot.

A thin sheen of sweat formed on Bruce's skin. He could feel his hair clinging to his forehead and Bruce could hear his own cries escaping his lips as Jerome assaulted that spot deep inside of him. His prostate. It felt so good and it made his cock throb and Bruce threw his head back, shoulder blades knotting together, fingers digging into Jeremiah's shoulder, his body convulsing, as he came, his cock twitching and then spurting white all over his belly and even Jeremiah's hand.

Through the haze of pleasure, Bruce felt so ashamed. Ashamed that he was enjoying their soft, gentle touches and he was ashamed to admit that the second orgasm was more intense, even better, than the first. Even more shameful was the whine he made when he felt Jerome's fingers leaving his body.

Though, the sudden sound of Jerome's belt clinking was almost like a gunshot in Bruce's ears. The realization piercing through the haze like a bullet piercing flesh.

"No... no... no... please... please..." Bruce begged on instinct, though the low, pleased thrum in his body said differently.

"Your mouth says no, no," Jerome murmured lowly and Bruce squirmed at the feeling of a blunt head pressing against his hole.

"But your body says yes, yes," Jeremiah finished as Jerome pushed the tip of his cock into Bruce's body.

Bruce's mouth fell open, a strangled gasp escaping him. The fingers had hurt, but the cock burned worse. It was much bigger than Jerome's fingers and even Bruce's own cock. He knew that without even having to look. Jerome lifted Bruce's legs up by the ankles, hooking them over his shoulders and getting a better angle as he kept pushing in and Bruce could feel it entering his body, stretching him even further and he knew he would never forget this moment.

He could grow old and have his memories fade from his mind and yet this very moment would still come to his thoughts and haunt him in his nightmares. He sobbed brokenly as Jeremiah kissed him and Jerome bottomed out inside of him, the redhead's jeans brushing against Bruce's bottom as the large cock pierced his body.

"So... tight..." Jerome ground out through gritted teeth, somehow managing to keep grinning.

Jeremiah's face was right next to Bruce's, watching him with a soft, gentle smile but the bitterness in his eyes was clear.

"It..." Bruce choked. "It hurts..." Bruce whimpered as Jeremiah lowered his face to Bruce's neck, his nose brushing against his Adam's apple, inhaling the boy's scent.

"Jerome..." Jeremiah growled, low and dangerous.

"Yeah, yeah..." Jerome muttered as he held still, actually giving Bruce time to adjust to the intrusion.

Bruce couldn't stop his body from twitching because of the pain. He tried to shift his hips and move away but Jerome held them in place, digging his fingers in and Bruce knew there would be bruises in the shapes of fingerprints. He felt like he was being impaled and from such an intimate place.

It felt like long lasting hours until the pain faded... until Jerome started to pull out and Bruce was forced to feel every last moment of it. He had no delusions that Jerome would stop hear and now, Jeremiah either... Bruce knew this was just the start... He whimpered when only the head was inside, and then Jerome was pushing it back in, slowly but it still hurt even with Jeremiah trying to distract him from the pain.

He gave a sharp intake of breath when he felt Jeremiah pulling is shirt up to reveal his heaving chest, nipples flushed and swollen and then Jeremiah was pressing a soft kiss to one... then he was grazing his teeth across the sensitive flesh, as though toying with the idea of biting such a delicate spot. Jeremiah twisted his wrist as he stroked Bruce and the teen hated that the heat was coming back into his cock, his body adjusting to Jerome's intrusion.

Bruce sucked in a breath as Jerome moved in and out of his body. He was slow, thankfully, but Bruce knew it was only because Jeremiah was there. Bruce arched into Jeremiah's touch, letting out a sharp cry that turned into a choked moan when Jerome started moving faster... and then harder.

Bruce sobbed as Jerome grunted, screaming out his moans as Jerome's cock brushed against his innermost spot. Stars popped in his eyes, his body blazing with a heat that felt like fire, his cock leaking onto Jeremiah's hand. Jerome's pace quickened, slamming in and out of Bruce's tight heat, all slowness gone, the boy screaming and moaning as his spot was assaulted, thrashing beneath the redhead, his body there for Jerome and Jeremiah to take and to claim.

Jerome's pace when not holding back by Jeremiah's urging was rough and brutal. Animalistic and agonizing, but not once did he miss Bruce's sweet spot and deep in Bruce's body, pain and pleasure became one. He almost felt like he was getting pleasure from the pain. His toes curled behind Jerome's ears, hips thrusting up as his back arched, giving a hoarse cry as he came, hips jerking in Jerome's grip as he thrust up into Jeremiah's hand, his release shooting onto his belly.

Jerome gave a grunt, Bruce's deliciously tight heat clenching down on him. His cock twitched in the boy's body before his release was filling Bruce's sweet hole. The teen gave a shaky, weak moan as he felt warmth flooding his insides, his body aching a dull, painful, but _good_ ache even though in the back of his mind, he felt so ashamed.

Jerome stayed inside of him, basking in the afterglow as he rutted into Bruce's body, his hips rocking forward and pushing his cock deeper into the boy. Bruce whined and whimpered when Jerome pulled out and his face blazed with embarrassment as he felt Jerome's release sliding out of him, trailing down the backs of his thighs.

Then, the twins swapped.

Jerome moved so that he was laying on Bruce's other side while Jeremiah took Jerome's place between Bruce's legs.

"No... no... no more... please..." Bruce begged.

"Hush, Brucie," Jerome murmured, capturing Bruce's lips with his own.

Bruce trembled as he heard the clinking of Jeremiah's belt... then the shuffling of his pants and boxers. Though, he heard the strange sound of something ripping...

"It should've been me," Jeremiah murmurs darkly, sounding angry and bitter and almost regretful.

"Doesn't matter," Jerome murmurs against Bruce's lips. "He's ours."

"You hate sharing as much as I do," Jeremiah says in a low voice.

"Bitch later, fuck now," Jerome retorts.

Bruce inhaled sharply, feeling the blunt head of Jeremiah's cock touching his hole. Jeremiah was even slower pushing in than Jerome was... but something felt different and weird...

Jerome chuckled.

"You can't tell me that you _like_ condoms," Jerome says, the redhead sounding appalled and still somehow smug.

"Of course not," Jeremiah snaps, losing his calm composure. "But it's this, or _you_," he spits the word out as though it were a foul taste on his tongue.

Jerome, as always, just chuckled.

"Love you too," Jerome says and Bruce could _hear_ his grin.

Bruce sucked in air between his death when Jeremiah pushed further inside. He was much slower, much more patient, and he was running his hands up and down Bruce's sides, fingers trailing over the teen's bruised hips. He kept telling Bruce what a good boy he was while Jerome licked up and down Bruce's neck, sucking harshly at the skin and even biting down hard enough to bruise. Nearly hard enough to draw blood.

Jeremiah was just as big as Jerome, but he was so much more gentle and daresay loving. Bruce, however, knew there was more to it. He knew Jeremiah wanted to do the same as Jerome had if not more, but because Jerome had gone first, Jeremiah only agreeing out of self-preservation, he was holding back right now. Bruce didn't know if that meant he should feel relieved or worried.

Bruce moaned softly as Jeremiah's cock brushed against that sweet spot inside of him. He unclenched his fists, hands falling on each side of his head, fingers falling lax, as Jeremiah slowly fucked him. If it were under any other sort of circumstances, Bruce might've said that it was like lovemaking, but he knew Jeremiah was holding back.

He cried out when Jerome's hand found its' way back to his cock, the redhead twisting his wrist as he stroked the teen, grinning wickedly. Pre-cum dripped from the red tip, Bruce whimpering out his moan as Jeremiah claimed his body just as Jerome had.

Bruce was letting out soft pants as Jeremiah moved in and out. He knew it was sick to think about... having a preference for something like this... but he couldn't actually say he had one... Jerome had been rough and dominating... Jeremiah was gentle, but this was dominance just the same... Heat flared in Bruce's cock as his insides seemed to clench down. His toes curled, his body clenching, his mind fogging with pleasure and pain, his body burning, as he came again, soiling himself. He moaned softly when he felt Jeremiah twitching inside and he could tell by the stutter of the man'ships that he had cum, but Bruce felt nothing because of the condom. It was sick to think about, but he felt sort of disappointed that he hadn't felt Jeremiah's warm release filling him up...

His body was spent, his cock now flaccid, and he panted, trying to catch his breath. It seemed so surreal, everything that had just happened to him. He felt so used, his body having betrayed him and he had been too scared to fight back, blackmailed into taking it. Bruce felt like the world's biggest coward and so useless. He sniffled, tears streaming, as he looked between Jeremiah and Jerome.

How had things come to this?

Jeremiah had mentioned in the cemetery that if he hadn't killed Gordon, then Bruce would've because of his... _predicament_. Well, it wasn't Gordon's fault that Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska were mentally unstable and didn't understand the concept, or just didn't care, that no was supposed to mean no. Bruce whimpered again, his thoughts turning against him.

This would kill Alfred. Bruce knew that for a fact. And he knew that if he ever saw Alfred and his friends again, then they could never know. They just couldn't. Alfred would blame himself and it would break the man, assuming he didn't hate Bruce. Selina would never look at him the same way again and the same could be said about Detective Bullock and if by some chance that Gordon was alive... Bruce couldn't think about it.

Bruce stared at the twins with broken eyes. Would they kill him now? Or would they let him go and make him live with this? The worst part was, although Bruce could keep secrets, he couldn't lie to Alfred to save his own life. He would know something was wrong. And then Bruce would be worried that Jeremiah would use this as blackmail or Jerome would shout it from the rooftops to anyone who would listen about what they had done to him.

Jeremiah smiled warmly at him, placing his hand on Bruce's cheek, cupping it and running his thumb over Bruce's lower lip. He didn't even have the energy to flinch.

"That's... that's it... right?" Bruce murmured brokenly. "You'll... you'll let Alfred go?"

Jerome grinned and even Jeremiah smiled a wicked smile.

"This is just the start, Brucie," Jerome said and Bruce's eyes widened, the fear stabbing into his heart like hundreds of little knives, making it pound as Jeremiah's wicked smile grew. "Oh, we're gonna have so much fun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Constructive criticism always appreciated, thanks to all who leave kudos and comments  
\- Also, Jeremiah is ginger in this cause I said so. He'll be green later ;)  
\- Also, also, I had to write the rest of this on my phone and ohmygod that was horrible lol but worth it


	4. Jeremiah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Well, over a week later but here it is and I hope it's good and it's not out of character  
\- Altered scene from Gotham at the beginning of this chapter  
\- Some chapters have titles, some don't  
\- Also special thanks to materiaoscura for the feedback and so I've edited Chapter 3 and I've got inspiration for later ;)

"He's a liar!"

"He's a fake!"

"A pale imitation of Jerome."

Jeremiah taps his finger on his blueprints, wondering how Jim Gordon, the filthy cockroach he is, could still be alive and how he could have foiled Jeremiah's masterpiece of a plan so easily. James Gordon was supposed to be dead, blown up in Jeremiah's bunker after Ecco had locked him in, trapping him like the rat he was... Well, Gordon wasn't dead and Jeremiah still couldn't help but wonder how Cobblepot, Kean, and Galavan had survived so long when all they wanted was money. It was pitiful, really.

"Think. Think," Jeremiah murmurs softly, trying to understand how Gordon could have pulled this off. "Think, think, think, think," he whispers as those hurtful and predictable words echo in his mind, taunting him.

_A liar!_

_A fake!_

_A pale imitation of Jerome._

That last one in particular makes him quite angry, it makes his blood boil, and he knows he will take delight in ending James Gordon's life. He will enjoy it. Immensely.

"How did they beat you?" Jeremiah whispers to himself, still staring down at his blueprints. "How did they figure you out?" he asks himself.

Surely, there is no way that Gordon was able to solve the locations of the bombs on his own. He must've had help, but Jeremiah knows that it wasn't from the filth that had the audacity to demand money of him. He wasn't as stupid as Penguin thought he was. He knew it would be a double-cross. Perhaps Jeremiah has more enemies than allies than he originally thought...

He tilts his head, now understanding his first mistake.

"Hmm, Gordon must have stolen the blueprints to the maze, found one of the bombs, and sabotaged the sequence," Jeremiah says.

He scoffs. He'll have to start again, but this time he will not be so lenient.

"I'll have to start again."

He runs his fingers over the paper, his mind already working on a new plan.

"You get used to it."

Jeremiah's posture turns rigid as he lifts his head to see Jerome standing beside him and he mentally scolds himself. He hadn't even heard Jerome come in. Unless he had been there since Jeremiah had stormed off.

"What do you want?" Jeremiah asks, coldly.

"Nothing with that attitude," Jerome says, smiling a strange little smile as he eyes the blueprints thoughtfully.

Jeremiah still isn't very impressed. He still wishes that he could have locked Jerome's pathetic little followers in the room and watched as the flames engulfed their still screaming bodies, burning them alive and reducing them to nothing more than charred corpses and then mere piles of ashes.

He certainly would have, had Jerome not been in the room, an amused, smug, and knowing expression on his scarred face. Jeremiah knew for certain that Jerome had not left the room until everyone else had for that very reason, knowing that their words, Gordon's especially, had gotten to him and that Jeremiah was planning on killing them. Jerome knew what the red button was for.

Jerome knew Jeremiah best, better than anyone else, most unfortunately, and as much as Jeremiah wanted to kill Jerome, he knew he would have to wait until the right moment so that he could prove to the cockroaches of Gotham City, starting with Gordon, that he was not some pale imitation of Jerome. He would not be called a liar and a fake.

Jeremiah would prove that he was the better brother, and as he told Kean, the vastly more intelligent one. He would be the only one that Bruce would ever need or want.

Jerome chuckles, looking amused and even entertained.

"It's kind of cute when you're thinking about killing me," Jerome says knowingly.

Jeremiah's eyes harden.

"I think nothing at all," Jeremiah says, a tick setting in his jaw as he clenches his teeth, gritting out his next words. "I _know_ I will."

Jerome just chuckles again.

"Keep telling yourself that. You couldn't even kill Jimmy," Jerome says, still eyeing the blueprints. "It wasn't bad for a first attempt. I do love explosives, but you'll get used to it."

Jeremiah's frown turns into a scowl.

"Used to what?" Jeremiah inquires, his patience running thinner and thinner by the second. "The multitude of failures you've added to your name? Constant disappointments?"

Jerome's eyes harden at that, his grin dimming slightly but he isn't done.

"Insulting me isn't going to change the facts of life. Jimbo is still alive, Sidekick ruined your little sequence, and Kitty Cat got away with the faithful butler," Jerome says.

Jeremiah closes his eyes, unimpressed and bordering infuriated. He reopens them to glare at his twin. Why was he the last to know that very vital piece of information?

"You didn't ask," Jerome says, not even looking at Jeremiah. "You left to go pout since you couldn't make fried chicken," he says and Jeremiah's scowl deepens as he turns back to his blueprints. "It'll be easier once you don't have a little Brucie bear fighting you," Jerome says and Jeremiah blinks, turning back to his brother. "I've got Bag Head making a special batch just for him and you don't need the butler in chains to permanently damage and maybe even kill him. Bruce knows that, or he will learn very quickly," Jerome says, smiling.

It's a strange smile. Not his usual demented, wicked, plotting grin. Rather, it was a happy sort of smile, in a sense, but it was there was a darkness to it. A look of knowing.

"take it from me. One bad day is all it takes. I've had years of bad days, you've had your share, especially after today, and so has Bruce. Mommy and daddy were just the tip of the iceberg. I'd be surprised if the little bastard wasn't already insane. And after yesterday, the ship's starting to sink. If you really want to speed things along, then you don't give him the time to adjust or any personal space. He'll just use that against you and bide his time, waiting and planning. He can be very good with his mouth, he just doesn't know it yet."

**********

Bruce is dreaming.

He can see a city, and he knows its Gotham, but it's on fire. Buildings going up in flames before collapsing into rubble and then burning into nothing. He can hear the wailing of police sirens, the unmistakable sound of rapid gunfire, and above all, he can hear someone laughing. His conscious self would later wish that he could say it was the sound of Jerome laughing, or maybe even Jeremiah, but he can't because Bruce knows what his own laughter sounds like, even if he hasn't heard it in a very long time.

Bruce feels the creep of consciousness coming to him and he whimpers as he feels a hand running through his hair, almost petting him. His eyelids flutter as he blinks away sleep, looking up to see Jeremiah looking down at him, the man sitting next to him on the bed and smiling warmly, daresay lovingly.

Bruce doesn't know how long he was asleep for, but figures it has to have been longer than a day since Jeremiah's clothes are different. Upon first glance, it looks like a simple business suit, like the ones Bruce's father used to wear, but one side of the jacket is black and the other is deep purple. There's a black vest underneath the jacket and around his neck is a black and green striped tie. The pants match by being entirely black, though his shoes are red.

Jeremiah's face is also paler than it had been in the cemetery and when he and Jerome had-- Bruce immediately stops that train of thought, instead focusing on how Jeremiah's hair is no longer ginger, but dark green. Weirdly, it sort of compliments the color of his clothes.

Bruce's face turns warm as his mind makes him remember everything that happened... maybe a few hours ago. He's not sure and he doesn't like not knowing. And he notices that in the room he's most likely trapped in, there are no clocks on the walls to tell him what time it is and there are no windows to show him if its day or night.

There is only the bed and a single door and Bruce isn't stupid. There is either guards posted outside the door or there's locks, possibly even both. His face grows hot when he realizes he's still naked, only the blanket keeping his lower half hidden from Jeremiah's eyes. Though, his own eyes sting with tears as he remembers that Jeremiah has already seen everything. And worse... Jerome had been... inside of him... and had released inside of his body, but Bruce felt nothing and he remembers cumming on himself... which meant... while he was unconscious, somebody, either Jerome or Jeremiah, had _cleaned_ him.

He felt sick. Very sick. He remembers how they had used his body, took his first time from him. And he knows that he must've passed out while Jeremiah was taking his turn and he briefly wonders, with bile rising in the back of his throat, if they kept going while he was unconscious. The soreness of his body makes him wonder and it makes him feel very nauseous and violated.

But despite that, Bruce can't help but think of Alfred.

"Where's Alfred?" Bruce croaks, the tears welling in his eyes.

Jeremiah chuckles softly, but it was without humor.

"I would think that you would be more concerned with your own well-being, Bruce," Jeremiah says, still running his fingers through Bruce's hair, secretly relishing in the softness of the dark locks.

"Where's Alfred?" Bruce repeats, his eyes burning as he fights back the tears.

He doesn't want Jeremiah to see him cry. Not again.

"He's gone, Bruce," Jeremiah says.

Bruce's eyes widen and his heart seems to stop beating and it feels like his stomach has fallen out of his body... He can't mean...

Jeremiah blinks, catching his mistake and he smiles apologetically.

"Oh, he's not dead, Bruce. That was the incorrect thing to say," Jeremiah says and Bruce gasps with relief, his heart beating again and he feels ready to start crying. "He escaped, most unfortunately. It was my own fault, really. If Ecco had been guarding him, I'm sure your little friend wouldn't have gotten away."

Bruce blinked, relieved that Alfred wasn't dead and relieved to hear that he had gotten away... but then surprised that Jeremiah would be telling him this... and then he wonders what he means by little friend. He can only think of one person...

"Selina?" Bruce can't help but ask.

Jeremiah hums softly, but he's frowning and Bruce takes that as a yes. He's relieved in knowing that Alfred is most likely safe with Selina either at the manor or with Barbara and Tabitha even if they aren't very trustworthy. Either way, Alfred is safe.

Jeremiah scoffs softly, reading Bruce's facial expressions easily. The boy really was like an open book. Almost too easy to read.

"Not quite, Bruce," Jeremiah says. "Jerome is right on one thing. You aren't good at hiding your emotions. Alfred may not be in my grasp and in chains, hidden away from the world, but that does not mean he is safe," Jeremiah says and Bruce's heart quickens. "Jerome's followers were able to kidnap him from your manor once. They can do it again. No one in Gotham is ever truly safe. You and I know this personally."

Bruce scowls as he sits up, knowing that Jeremiah is right as he pulls the blanket up and wraps it around his entire body to cover himself from Jeremiah, who frowns at the action.

"Why are you doing this?" Bruce asks quietly, the memories coming back to haunt him.

Alfred was safe... for now. Selina had saved him... so maybe if Bruce had held out a little longer, and tried to fight the twins, then Selina could've gotten him too... Bruce's lower lip quivered. He'd told the twins that he'd comply... _obey_... so long as they didn't hurt Alfred. If Bruce had tried harder to fight the twins, then maybe it wouldn't have happened at all... Alfred would never forgive him if he ever found out, or he would blame himself.

Jeremiah scoffs again.

"Do you really think that I am so incompetent that I would keep you and your faithful butler in the same safe house? Selina was already poking around once the two of you had disappeared and the lack of common sense and intelligence from Jerome's followers is exactly why she was able to find that particular safe house. I can assure you, Bruce, that not even Jerome's followers know the exact location of this one. Only myself, Jerome, and Ecco. And even when they are told, it won't matter. We will be gone," Jeremiah says and Bruce closes his eyes as the dam breaks, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He understands then that it wouldn't have mattered. Bruce could have fought them all he wanted, but Jerome was physically stronger than him and Bruce was scared of the both of them. He wanted to be stronger than that, and now he felt like a hypocrite for having told Jeremiah to take the fear and use it to be stronger than Jerome... Bruce hadn't. He hadn't tried very hard. The shock of what they wanted to do to him had gotten to him and then the fear of what they would do to Alfred had kept him... _compliant_.

Bruce might as well have let the twins take him, convince him that Alfred was in danger... and he had let them use it against him.

"Why did you do this?" Bruce asks feebly as he flinches, curling into himself as the memories of their hands running over his skin, touching every inch of his body and parts that only he was supposed to see, come back to haunt him, replaying like a horror movie in his mind.

Jeremiah sighs softly, still petting Bruce's hair.

"I just want to be connected with you, Bruce. I offered you my friendship... to be my best friend..." Jeremiah says quietly, his eyes seemingly so sincere. "But I have realized that friendship wouldn't be enough... it would never be enough... but there is still a connection, between you and I," he says, smiling gently.

Bruce feels angry then. Jeremiah wasn't his friend. The only connection they had was that Jeremiah had been his friend and had betrayed him. Jeremiah was an enemy, not a friend. He had lied to Bruce about being his friend and he had tricked him into using his company to make bombs that would destroy Gotham.

"Does this connection involve _lying_ to me?" Bruce spits, growing angrier. "_Tricking_ me? Using my company to build weapons? Destroying Gotham? _Kidnapping_ me? Killing Gordon? Ra--" Bruce cuts himself off.

He felt very sick to think about that. He _couldn't_ think about it. He had heard horrible stories before and about how awful the recovery was and sometimes there was never really any sort of recovery... there were just some wounds that time couldn't heal and wounds that wouldn't fade. Ever.

If and when he escaped from Jeremiah and Jerome and found his way back home... he couldn't ever let Alfred find out. However, Bruce knew there were problems involving that. He couldn't lie to Alfred, even if he was getting better at it, and he had a feeling Jeremiah wouldn't hesitate to use it as blackmail while Jerome was very vocal and unashamed. The brothers might contradict each other, but the point was that Bruce knew it wouldn't end well for him. But assuming Jeremiah and Jerome did keep silent about it, then Bruce would have to take this to his grave.

Another problem, however, was that Jerome's followers knew that Jeremiah had kissed him. Twice. And if they knew, Ecco probably did too. One person knowing something like that could turn into many knowing it, and then everybody could know. It felt like bugs were scuttling through his insides, making his skin crawl.

Jeremiah, however, frowns, actually looking _hurt_ by Bruce's words.

"I wanted to do things the right way, Bruce..." Jeremiah says softly and Bruce wants to scoff at him, maybe even hit him. "Well, better than how things went... I wanted to be your first..." Jeremiah's eyes harden, bitter and regretful. "He was your first, wasn't he?"

Bruce doesn't want to answer, but he doesn't want to risk making Jeremiah angry. He closes his eyes, his face burning with shame and embarrassment as he reluctantly nods.

Jeremiah sighs and Bruce can tell its from disappointment. Even regret and Bruce hates him for it. He has no right to be acting like Jerome stole something important from _him_.

"I wanted to make it better for you, Bruce... I just want to be connected with you..." Jeremiah says as Bruce opens his eyes, though Bruce is shocked by how sad and sincere Jeremiah looks. "But as always, whenever I find a connection with someone, Jerome finds a way to insert himself and then ruin it for me..." Jeremiah says morosely and Bruce almost feels bad.

Almost.

"But not this time," Jeremiah says. "Not with you."

It's astounding how sincere he actually sounds, but Bruce knows that it has to be another trick because Jeremiah can't honestly be sincere about something like this. Not after what he's done to Gordon, to Alfred, and to Bruce. The teen frowns, staring at Jeremiah, who looks so sad and so angry at the same time.

"I had to share my mother and Jerome killed her... 'a pale imitation of Jerome'..." Jeremiah says darkly and Bruce thinks of Gordon. It sounds like something he would've said. "And now you... I don't want to share you... I just want you... more than this filthy city. More than anything... And, just so you know,t he bombs failed. Someone sabotaged the sequence. For now, Gotham still stands."

Bruce keeps staring, his mind working as fast as it can under the circumstances. He's surprised that Jeremiah is telling him this, and relieved that someone, most likely Bullock and the GCPD, sabotaged the sequence, saving Gotham.

He thinks of an escape and he knows that if there is ever one thing he can count on between Jerome and Jeremiah, is that they hate each other. Jerome might be physically stronger than Jeremiah, and has more muscle on his end, and they're both intelligent, but the better of the two was Jeremiah. For now, at least.

"He hurt me," Bruce says quietly, not even having to pretend to sound like he was in pain.

His entire body hurt, aching in his most sensitive, private areas. And his heart ached with how much he already missed Alfred and knowing that he would have to find a way to keep this from him. And his stomach felt sick as he thought about how nobody could ever know. He felt sick knowing that he had let the twins use Alfred against him. And if Alfred didn't blame and possibly resent Bruce, then he would blame himself and Bruce didn't want that. He didn't want anybody to know about it.

And it scared him in knowing that all of Jerome's followers and probably Ecco knew. He had to get out of here. He had to escape and go home to Alfred and pretend that this never happened. And just hope by some miracle, Jeremiah and Jerome kept silent too.

Both brothers had hurt him, but Bruce figured that it was the best of a really bad situation to assign the blame for Jerome long enough to get the brothers to start fighting so he could plan his escape.

Jeremiah's eyes harden as he presses a hand to Bruce's cheek, cupping the side of his face and he doesn't even have the strength to fight back or even flinch away. He lets the tears keep falling instead.

Both Jerome and Jeremiah had hurt him, but Jerome had done it first. He had hurt Alfred before and almost made Bruce kill in him a fit of rage in the mirror house... and some dark, twisted part deep inside of him wishes he had just run Jerome through with that piece of broken glass when he had the chance, just to have been done with it. Maybe then, Bruce would have never have met Jeremiah, his cult would never have come to exist, and maybe less people would've been hurt and killed. Then again, Jerome would have been victorious in making Bruce snap and Bruce knew he wouldn't have been able to forgive himself for taking a life, even after everything Jerome had done and would continue to do.

"It was never my intention, Bruce. Understand that. Jerome made one good point when he said that you would be hurt regardless and that it would take time for you to adjust... I just never wanted it to be done this way..." Jeremiah says softly, now cupping Bruce's face in both hands and Bruce bites his lower lip, holding back the sob that wanted to break free. "He's always taking everything he can from me and taking delight in doing so... My family, my mother, my life..." Jeremiah says, running his thumb over Bruce's lower lip and Bruce does flinch then. "I won't let him take you away too."

Bruce isn't stupid. He knows it's not some threat with nothing to back it up. It's a promise and he knew that Jeremiah didn't intend to break it.

"I want to go home," Bruce murmurs tearfully.

"For now this is home, Bruce," Jeremiah says softly, smiling a gentle, patient smile.

Bruce doesn't want this home. He wants go back to his home with Alfred at the manor with Selina occasionally sneaking past the security and then insulting it. But Bruce knows that if he is ever going to get back, then he has to pick a brother and a side and go from there. He knew it was risky and no matter who he picked, somebody was going to be pissed off, though he'd never actually seen Jerome angry before. He didn't want to start now, and he had no idea what Jeremiah could do when he was angry.

"Where--" Bruce swallows down his sob as he talks. "-- where are my clothes?" he asks hesitantly, not liking how feeble his voice sounds.

Jeremiah smiles warmly, clearly having expected this very question and in his eyes, there's a gleam of knowing that Bruce doesn't like.

"In the laundry," Jeremiah says. "But you must understanding something, Bruce. Trust is a very delicate mistress. It is something that must be shared after it is earned," Jeremiah says and Bruce feels his stomach suddenly twisting in uneasy, unpleasant knots. "Jim Gordon, most unfortunately, escaped my bunker before it was destroyed. He's alive."

Bruce blinks. First with shock at hearing that Gordon was alive, and then with greater surprise considering the fact that Jeremiah was telling him this. And judging by the displeased look on Jeremiah's face, he wasn't happy about it.

"Trust works both ways, Bruce. I will be nothing but honest with you. Understand, your butler may have escaped, and Gordon may be alive, but I don't have to have them in chains to destroy them. Then kill them," Jeremiah says darkly and Bruce is _afraid_. "Horribly, I might add. And how heartbroken dear Alfred would be if he found out that the reason he will face such a slow, painful, excruciating death was all because you couldn't follow a simple instruction," Jeremiah says, looking Bruce in the eye, his own now void of emotion. "And I will enjoy torturing Selina most. Do I make myself clear?"

Bruce trembles, swallowing. He's afraid for Alfred, Selina, and Gordon. While he knows they can take care of themselves, and Selina has Barbara and Tabitha, he also knows that Jerome's followers were able to kidnap Alfred once and knows that they could do it again just as easily. And even if they didn't kidnap them, they could still kill them. They might do nothing without Jerome's say so, and the same for Ecco to Jeremiah, but Bruce knew Jerome didn't care if they died and Jeremiah had a vendetta against Gordon and now Selina. Still trembling, Bruce nods.

"Good," Jeremiah says, the blankness in his eyes disappearing as he praises Bruce. "Now, if you want clothes, you will have to earn them."

Bruce blinks, gaping at him, unable to comprehend and believe what he's hearing. It's like being treated like a child who has to do their chores to earn some sort of toy or sweet.

"You can't just--" Bruce starts to argue but Jeremiah chuckles, stopping him.

"Things are going to be very different now, Bruce. I understand that it will be very difficult for you to adjust, Jerome has informed me of your persisting stubbornness and hero complex, and it may take months, maybe even years--" Jeremiah says and Bruce's stomach drops. "-- but you will learn, one way or another. I will take as long as necessary if I have to. I may be very patient, but I can be just as cruel," Jeremiah says, smiling pleasantly as though his words aren't demeaning. "If you are good, you will be rewarded. If you are bad, you will be punished. And if you choose to keep acting out and misbehave like a child after facing punishments, you will get, shall we call them, _breathing treatments_."

Bruce stares, disbelief written over his features, anger boiling under his belly and burning under his skin. Who the hell did Jeremiah think he was in telling Bruce that he had to earn his own clothes back? In telling him that if he was a good boy, he'd be _rewarded_, and if he was a bad boy, he'd be _punished_? And while Bruce was angry, he had an idea of what the breathing treatments would be and he didn't want to have to experience one. But he wasn't some dog, some disobedient puppy, for Jeremiah to take, claim, train, and make a _good boy_. Bruce was a _person_, not some toy for Jeremiah to play with until he was bored.

"You have no idea just how beautiful you look when you're angry," Jeremiah whispers, a smug smile on his face and his words make Bruce shiver, his skin crawling.

"I'm not your dog and I'm not your toy," Bruce says, wanting so badly to punch the smugness from Jeremiah's face.

"No," Jeremiah says but Bruce knows he isn't agreeing with him. "Not yet."

Bruce glares, feeling angry and sick.

"They're _my_ clothes. I want them," Bruce says through gritted teeth, trying to hold back his anger.

"You will have to earn clothing, Bruce. Each article at a time," Jeremiah says in a patience voice that makes Bruce want to hit him over and over again, just like Jerome in the mirror house.

His fingers curl into the blanket, hands clenching into fists as he lowers his head, shame pooling in his stomach. He knows there are no alternatives. Not right now. He knows that if he wants to have time to plan an escape and go through with it, then he will have to do as Jeremiah says. But it doesn't mean he enjoys it. He swallows his pride.

"What-- What do I have to... do?" Bruce asks hesitantly, hating that he has to comply or, as Jeremiah so eloquently put it, _obey_.

Jeremiah's smile grows, smug and pleased, and Bruce flinched as the man lifts his head up, cupping each cheek in his hands.

"Kiss me, Bruce."

Bruce's eyes widen, his heart stuttering to a stop as his stomach falls, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Jeremiah had stolen his first kiss in the cemetery... that was one thing, shocking and even disturbing... but he had taken that and Bruce couldn't get away then... he had a choice now... but he didn't like either options.

"What?" Bruce asks, his mind not wanting to comprehend what Jeremiah was asking of him.

Or, more specifically, in Jeremiah's mind, _ordering_ him to do.

Even if he was to hold out and plot an escape, Bruce quickly realized he was going to have to do things he wouldn't like and that he would never do otherwise. Ever.

"Kiss me, and you may have an article of clothing," Jeremiah says and there's a glint in his eyes that knows something Bruce doesn't.

"I--" Bruce says, feeling a lump forming in his throat.

One part of his mind, the saner part that wants to escape, tells him that it's just a stupid kiss and that it won't mean anything. That he has to do it if he wants to go home... but another part, a cruel part, tells him that Alfred won't blame himself for this, he'll just hate Bruce and he'll never forgive him. It tells him that he will never forget it and nobody will look at him the same way again.

"I-- I can't..." Bruce whimpers, his heart beating unsteadily.

Jeremiah hums softly, looking disappointed and disapproving. Almost as though he thinks that Bruce is acting like a disobedient puppy that's refusing to obey master's command, or he's a misbehaving child refusing to do what the parent just told it to do.

"Very well then. How very disappointing," Jeremiah says, his thumb toying with Bruce's lower lip. "Let's put it into perspective, shall we, Bruce? Consider it a lesson in training. If you refuse to do as I ask of you, you will not get clothing. And if you do not have clothes, you will, of course, be naked, therefore you will not be allowed to leave this room except to use the restroom. And you will not be permitted anything to keep yourself entertained while locked in this room. I know you won't like that at all."

Bruce's breath is shaky, anger and shame one in the pit of his belly. He hates the unfairness, the absolute injustice and degradation, of this entire situation and it makes his stomach clench and his body shake. He hates this... but he knows that if he wants to get out of this room, get back his clothes, and plan his escape, he has to... comply. But it's upsetting, because he knows he's not gaining back his dignity by getting back the clothes that are _his_. If anything, he's killing his dignity faster by obeying... but he knows he won't be able to handle being locked in a room all day and not being able to tell the time and not have anything to do...

"I... I want my clothes..." Bruce says, his mind and words betraying his heart and morals.

"Then kiss me."

Bruce trembles even as he leans forward, his hands feeling clammy as his insides flutter nervously. _It's just as stupid kiss_, the nicer part of his mind tells him. _You're weak and pathetic_, the other says cruelly. Bruce closes his eyes, not wanting to see Jeremiah's smug face anymore, and then he feels Jeremiah's lips against his own.

They're still so soft, just like in the cemetery, and Bruce's trembling increases as Jeremiah's hold on his face tightens, not letting the boy pull away. Bruce whimpers as he feels Jeremiah's tongue poking his lips and he knows that if he bites this time, he won't get his clothes back and it will probably result in one of Jeremiah's... punishments. The word makes Bruce's insides curl and shrivel unhappily but he wants the clothes, even if their his in the first place.

Very, very reluctantly, he opens his mouth and lets Jeremiah in. He can't help but grimace when Jeremiah's tongue invades his mouth, every instinct in his body willing him, screaming at him, to bite down but he holds back. One hand slides down from Bruce's cheek to trail down his neck, fingertips ghosting over the skin, before they brush over the blanket.

Jeremiah pulls away, smiling happily, and Bruce knows better than to feel relieved that the kiss is over. His lips tingle as his stomach churns.

"That's one article of clothing," Jeremiah says, still smiling. "Do you want more?"

Bruce shivers again. He knows that Jeremiah's words have to meanings to them but he has to pretend that it's all just for his clothes and that he's not indulging in Jeremiah's twisted games. Though he understands that Jeremiah is going to draw this out and make him do more than one unforgivable thing to earn his clothes. Each unforgivable action, one article of clothing.

"Yes..." Bruce whispers, tears streaming down his cheeks even as he lets Jeremiah pull the blanket away and even though Jeremiah nearly has to pry his fingers from the blanket, he is not deterred.

Jeremiah is slow as he pulls the blanket open and Bruce trembles as it slowly slides from his shoulders and he bites his lip to suppress his whimper, which he is sure is pitiful and pathetic. Jeremiah has already seen his body, but it is not a consolation. Somehow, it makes it even worse. He's naked, and the word _exposed_ keeps popping into his thoughts, haunting him, especially as Jeremiah gives a pleased purr.

Bruce can't help but pull his knees to his chest and wrap his arms around his knees, as though it'll do some good to hide him. Jeremiah just chuckles softly at the action as his hands trail down Bruce's shoulders, massaging them for a moment, before he's leaning in and pressing his lips to Bruce's neck, kissing his skin and Bruce's legs turn to jelly as he feels Jeremiah's tongue on him, trailing up the column of his neck.

Bruce feels like an animal in a trap. A bird in a locked cage.

"How much do you want it?" Jeremiah asks in a whisper, his words holding a double meaning.

Bruce stares up at him, his eyes glassy and his cheeks red and stained with tears. He wants his clothes back and even if he _earns_ more than one article of clothing, he has a feeling he won't be allowed to pick which ones he wants. He also has a feeling that if he says he wants them all, then that means Jeremiah will have his entire body again. Bruce feels stupid and weak and even pathetic for not being able to use that word, but he just can't. Because it somehow makes it more real.

"What..." Bruce feels the lump in his throat coming back, growing stronger and stronger and it feels like it's choking him as he speaks. "What do you want me to... do?"

Jeremiah grins a predator's grin. The smile of a madman.

"Well," Jeremiah says softly, warm breath ghosting over Bruce's flesh and goosebumps erupt on his arms like little volcanoes, but there's no warmth. Only coldness. "On your hands and your knees."

Bruce stares, confused and then the realization is like a swift punch to the stomach and he feels so sick.

"N-no... I-- I-- I can't..." Bruce whimpers because he _can't_ do this...

"Well then, that's rather disappointing," Jeremiah says, pulling away but rather than getting off the bed, he simply leans his upper body against the headboard, his legs crossed and an expectant smile on his face. "Though, you should know that one article of clothing will not be enough to permit you to leave this room. I don't like others seeing what doesn't belong to them."

Bruce feels so angry and scared, horrified and regretful... he doesn't want to stay in this room any longer than necessary... but he feels so disgusted with himself...

"Can... can... can you...?" Bruce tries to ask but he chokes on his words, a sob nearly passing his lips.

"Help you?" Jeremiah asks knowingly and Bruce can only nod, unable to stop his frustrated and upset tears. "Your hands, Bruce. You need your hands," Jeremiah says, looking pleased.

Bruce lets out a shaky breath as he does what he is told. He gets on his knees and his hands reach for Jeremiah's belt, each second that passes seemingly lasting for hours, and he can't stop them from trembling as he undoes Jeremiah's belt, the clinking sound amplified as his face burns with shame, and his fingers fumble on the button and then the zipper, revealing matching black boxers with an unmistakable bulge. Bruce's breathes turn heavy, his insides stirring something awful, and he-- he can't do this...

"I... I can't..." Bruce whimpers as he starts to cry.

"Shh, just take your hand," Jeremiah murmurs, his own taking hold of Bruce's wrist and guiding the hand attached to Jeremiah's boxers. "Reach in," Jeremiah instructs and Bruce feels faint as he does what he's told, feeling the heat of Jeremiah's cock against his fingers. "Pull it out," Jeremiah orders, his words echoing in Bruce's head, his voice sounding like it was miles away, at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

Bruce's lip quivers as he takes hold of Jeremiah's cock, pulling it out and the sound of fabric shuffling is distant in his ears.

"It's okay, Bruce," Jeremiah says patiently.

Bruce wants to shake his head and argue that nothing about this was _okay_. He wants to tell Jeremiah that he will never again be _okay_. Dread gnaws his belly like a dog's teeth to a bone.

"Your lips, Bruce," Jeremiah urges and Bruce cries even as he slowly lowers his head down, reluctantly opening his mouth.

Jeremiah sucks in a breath at the feeling of Bruce's soft, sweet lips against the head of his cock, followed by the warm wetness of his mouth.

"That's it, Bruce... such a good boy..." Jeremiah praised, groaning softly as Bruce managed to get the head into his mouth, the boy crying all the while.

Bruce's entire body shook with sobs as he tasted the bitterness of Jeremiah's pre-cum and the cock slowly began to go into his mouth. He wanted so badly, more than anything, to bite down even if it was disgusting but he had gotten this far. He couldn't go back now and he really didn't want to make Jeremiah angry.

"Deeper, Bruce," Jeremiah groans.

Chest heaving with muffled sobs, Bruce kept lowering his head until it was halfway into his mouth. Then he started to gag as it hit the back of his throat, startling his gag reflex and making him choke. Tears poured out of his eyes.

Bruce hated Jeremiah and Jerome, but most of all, he hated himself. He knew this was weakness and pathetic. That mean, cruel little voice in his head told him that Alfred, Selina, Gordon, Bullock, and all of Gotham would never again look at him the same way and it said that he was pathetic for trying to use them as a reason, an excuse, for what he was doing. The voice told him that he could hold out better than that and he didn't even try. The other voice, the kinder one, told him that he couldn't control it and that he was helping himself escape and in the long run, he was protecting Alfred.

Bruce knew his situation was screwed no matter what he did. He might say he was trying to protect Alfred and he was gaining Jeremiah's trust long enough to find out where he was and how he could get back home or even to the GCPD. He just wanted his clothes back and he resented the fact that Jeremiah held all of the cards against him right now. The kinder voice told him that he had no choice, the cruel one didn't agree, but Bruce had to drown that one out to get himself through this.

"Use your tongue," Jeremiah instructs and through his sobs, Bruce does as he's told.

He hesitantly runs his tongue along the bottom of Jeremiah's cock, brushing it against the vein and it earns him a pleasured, pleased groan. Jeremiah's hand finds its way back into Bruce's hair and tugs. It was a strangely pleasant feeling in an odd sort of way and Bruce's eyelids flutter as he inhales sharply through his nose, his breath escaping him.

"Up and down, Bruce," Jeremiah orders.

Sniffling, Bruce lifts his head back up, eyes screwing shut at the feeling of Jeremiah's cock sliding out of his mouth, before lowering it back down and letting his jaw fall lax, trying to copy what Jerome had done to him but failing horribly.

As he lifted his head and lowered it back down, he tried to do as Jeremiah said and use his tongue and ignore what he was doing at the same time. He kept repeating in his head, over and over, like a mantra, that this was the only way he would be able to get his clothes back. Because if he didn't tell himself that, maybe even delude himself into believing it, then he knew he would never be able to forgive himself.

"Suck," Jeremiah orders and Bruce's shoulders wrack with sobs, the sound muffled by the cock in his mouth.

He tries to do to as Jerome did and apply suction, but he nearly chokes himself trying. He quickly breathes in through his nose, whimpering around Jeremiah's cock.

"Harder."

Bruce whines and does as he's told. He isn't prepared for when Jeremiah's cock is suddenly twitching in his mouth and his eyes shoot open when Jeremiah grips his head, crying out with shock and with pain from the hard tug, and Jeremiah forces his head down as he releases into Bruce's mouth. The teen chokes on it, the taste so bitter, and he's about to yank his head back even if it means Jeremiah might pull his hair, but Jeremiah doesn't let him.

"Swallow and that's a third article of clothing," Jeremiah says.

Bruce whines, frustrated and disgusted, as he swallows Jeremiah's release, hating himself more and more and wishing this could just be a horrible nightmare that he would wake up from already. Right now, preferably.

"Well, that was hot."

Bruce's eyes widen and he tries to pull away again but Jeremiah's grip on his hair tightens, keeping him in place. Bruce sobs around Jeremiah's cock as he sees Jerome through the corner of his eye. Neither Bruce nor Jeremiah had even heard the door open.

"Go away," Jeremiah growls out.

"Why would I do that? I just had dinner and now I'm getting a few show," Jerome says, laughing and Bruce can smell something cooking and he flushes as his stomach rumbles lowly.

"Did you at least bring him clothes?" Jeremiah asks, sighing in defeat since all three of them knew Jerome wouldn't be leaving.

Knowing that he was getting clothes, even only three articles of clothing, makes Bruce feel relieved.

"Yeah, you should've seen the look on the cashier's face. Poor guy thought they were for a woman and then made a very rude comment. Long story short, he's dead," Jerome says.

_What?_ Bruce thinks, blinking with confusion and then he feels awful in knowing that another person is dead because of Jerome. Probably by Jerome's hand.

"So, is little Brucie playing cock-warmer with his mouth?" Jerome asks and Bruce whimpers, ashamed, as Jeremiah groans, clearly annoyed.

"Get out," Jeremiah says, nearly growling.

"You didn't answer the question," Jerome says and Bruce doesn't have to look at him to know the redhead is grinning.

"What do you think? Your presence is disrupting this moment," Jeremiah says unhappily.

"Yeah, yeah," Jerome says and Bruce can hear him throwing something and he can tell it hits Jeremiah. "Also, your girl Ecco might just decide to poison Brucie's dinner. Left her post by the door like ten minutes ago. Might be a little jealous."

Bruce tenses and he can feel Jeremiah do the same. Jeremiah asks the same question Bruce was thinking.

"How long have you been standing there?" Jeremiah asks, sounding angry now.

"Unimportant," Jerome says unabashedly.

Bruce cries as Jeremiah finally lets go of his hair and he pulls away, letting Jeremiah's cock fall out of his mouth and trying not to flinch from the audible, wet and lewd sound that makes Bruce feel so disgusting.

Bruce just wants to curl up into himself and hide underneath the blanket, because he knows Jerome and Jeremiah are both staring at him. He looks at Jeremiah, wanting the clothes and he sees that Jerome brought in a red bag with black lining. Jeremiah's looking into the back, a displeased expression on his face.

"I thought I said purple with green," Jeremiah says through gritted teeth.

"And I thought I said if you wanted purple and green, you'd get off your ass and get it yourself. I'm not your errand boy," Jerome retorts.

"You... you said you'd give me my clothes..." Bruce murmurs, wrapping his arms around his body even though he knows it's pointless.

"No, he said he's give you clothes. Not that he'd give you your clothes," Jerome says, grinning and Bruce realizes he's right and that he fell easily into Jeremiah's trick. "One thing he's always been good at, Brucie boy, is using his words to turn others against you, or make you do things you wouldn't usually do,"he adds. "Though, I'd rather you have gone naked."

"Shut up," Jeremiah says angrily before turning to Bruce.

While Bruce can tell that Jeremiah is trying to make his expression softer, he's annoyed with Jerome.

"You are to shower, and then join me for dinner," Jeremiah says.

The idea of food sounds appealing, though Bruce is wary if Ecco poisoned it... then again, he supposes he'd rather eat poisoned food than spend one more minute in this safe house and he won't have to worry about anyone finding out about this... His stomach rumbles with hunger and he flushes at the knowing smile it earns him.

"What are they?" Bruce asks, still acutely aware of Jerome staring at him appreciatively, dark eyes raking over his naked body.

Jeremiah hands him the bag and Bruce tries his hardest not to snatch it away. But when what's inside, he almost wants to throw it back at Jerome.

There were shorts inside, but they looked like they would just barely cover his bottom. One side was blue while the other was red. Underneath the shorts was a medium sleeved shirt that was white with a red top and two red stripes on both sleeves and on the front, in black letters, read; Daddy's Lil' Monster. Bruce couldn't hold back his scowl as he threw the shirt onto the bed, missing Jerome's eyes darkening. Underneath the shirt was underwear. _Women's_ underwear. Lace panties that were red with black lining and even had a little black bow on the front and three black diamonds on the side.

There was also a black belt with gold studs and a gold diamond on the front along with black tights that had a hole on the thighs of each leg, one on the outer part and the other on the inside and Bruce didn't even think they would fit. Underneath the tights were gold wrist bracelets with spikes on them, a pair of gloves that were red with a bit of blue and the wrists were black. A pair of black and white sneakers, and a jacket that was red on one side and blue on the other with red and white trims. On the back of the jacket, in large gold letters, read; Property of the Valeskas.

While Bruce was angry, he was also surprised. Angry because wearing any of these clothes meant he was allowing Jerome and Jeremiah to call him their property, and surprised because they hated sharing what they had but the jacket read Valeska_s_. Not Jeremiah or Jerome.

"I want _my_ clothes," Bruce says angrily.

"They're in the laundry, Bruce, and you have yet to earn them," Jeremiah says as he tucks himself back into his pants.

"You tricked me," Bruce says, angry tears welling in his eyes.

"And yet you fell for it, conquistador," Jerome says, still grinning, and Bruce scowls.

"I want to go home," Bruce says.

"For now, as I have already told you, this is home," Jeremiah says in an infuriatingly patience voice.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Bruce spits, not so patient.

"You'll see. In time," Jeremiah says and Bruce can tell the brothers know something he doesn't and they're not going to tell him.

Bruce glares at him, angry and betrayed, scared and resentful.

"You said you'd be honest with me," Bruce says quietly, hating every second of this.

"He is honest with you, but telling the truth and withholding information can be two different things given the right circumstances," Jerome says.

Bruce directs his glare to the clothes. He knows he has no other options and that he has to find a way to figure out where he is so he can find a way to escape. He can't stay here. He already feels so disgusting and violated, and if he wants to preserve some modesty in front of Ecco, and not be trapped in this room with nothing, then he has to go with what the twins want.

"Those aren't even pants..." Bruce says unhappily, looking at the short shorts. "Or men's underwear..." he adds, now understanding what Jerome had meant.

"And just how far are you willing to go to have men's underwear and pants, Bruce? And this isn't my fault," Jeremiah says and Bruce flinches.

He doesn't want to do anything else.

"Oh, sure, like always, blame it on me. You're the one who wouldn't go and get the clothes yourself, so it is your fault," Jerome retorts.

Bruce whimpers. He didn't _want_ to give Jeremiah a blowjob. He just wanted his clothes back. He didn't want to be ra-- _taken_ by Jerome Valeska and then Jeremiah. He didn't _want_ to be kidnapped by a madman, again. He just wanted his clothes back and he wanted to go home. He just wanted Alfred.

"You can either put on your three articles of clothing after your shower, or you can earn yourself your first punishment in the shower. It's your choice, Bruce," Jeremiah says and Bruce realizes he was right.

He could only pick three pieces of clothes to wear... He didn't want to wear the shorts or the underwear, but he didn't want to have to earn a pair of men's underwear and pants. He hated Jeremiah for not going and getting the clothes himself, and then Jerome for getting these ones probably to purposefully piss Jeremiah off. And he hated himself for letting himself get put into this situation.

Bruce figured the jacket and the shirt and probably the underwear were the best, or at least the underwear, the shorts, and either the shirt and the jacket, but he couldn't help but think that there was something else to the clothes that he wasn't understanding at the moment. He didn't want to be tricked again.

Hesitantly, he grabbed the shorts and the underwear, figuring Jeremiah would make a thing of how Bruce was only wearing underwear and nothing to cover them, and judging by the look in Jeremiah's eyes, he was right. His face burned with shame and his skin crawled, and then he was torn between the shirt and the jacket. Neither were good options. The shirt meant that he was taking Jerome's side and most likely letting Jerome call himself daddy, the word making Bruce's stomach clench painfully, missing his own father, but wearing the jacket meant that he was allowing the both of them to call him their property.

He hated both decisions, but he was also probably slowly getting on Jeremiah's good side... at the same time, the jacket didn't look like it would cover much. Even though he might be able to zip it, it looked like it was too small and it would expose his belly... he picked the shirt back up, hating every last moment of this.

"In the shower then," Jeremiah says. "Then dinner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I purposefully left out Ra's al Ghul from this chapter. Obviously, with Jerome being alive and Bruce's current predicament, a lot of shit will be different... that scene where Jeremiah pulls out the rocket launcher is just delightful


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- No smut  
\- Not sure if this is a good chapter or not, it's like, I have so many things in my mind but the getting there is a pain in the ass  
\- Special thanks to everybody who reads this story, leaves kudos and comments but I am sorry if this chapter isn't very good  
\- Requests and suggestions always welcomed and I often go back and edit chapters, so that's something  
\- Kind of manipulation in this chapter

Bruce's insides are still crawling, stirring awfully, as Jerome leads him out of the bedroom. His eyes frantically look around for a window or a clock or a door, anything to tell him what time it was or where he could escape from. There was nothing except three doors, and from what he could see, one down the hall led into a dining room and the one across the bedroom led into a bathroom. The third door, at the other end of the hall, was closed and Bruce dreaded what was behind it.

Bruce looked up as Jeremiah smiled down at him, looking so sincere and loving, almost sweet, even though Bruce can only feel bitter resentment. Hatred, even. Bruce tenses when he feels Jerome's arm wrap around his shoulders, pulling him towards the redhead and away from Jeremiah and at once, Jeremiah's warm demeanor changes. It steels over, becoming emotionless.

"You are to shower and then join me for dinner. No--" Jeremiah stares at Jerome, the steeliness becoming clear loathing. "-- _tardiness_," he says through clenched teeth.

Jerome just chuckles, low and gravelly, as though Jeremiah's barely concealed fury is entertaining to him. Both Bruce and Jeremiah know that's how Jerome feels, merely amused.

"I can see why you like him so much. You're exactly the same. No fun at all while I'm ten tons of fun," Jerome says and Bruce can _hear_ his grin.

Surprisingly, but not really at the same time, Jeremiah scoffs, annoyed.

"You have no understanding of what fun actually is," Jeremiah spits darkly before turning his back on Jerome, holding his head up as though he sees Jerome as nothing more than inferior, and storming down the hall and into the dining room.

Jerome, on the other hand, steers Bruce, almost like a child, into the bathroom.

To Bruce's surprise, the bathroom is clean and not splattered with blood or even painted with graffiti. Both of which, Jerome and his followers loved.

White tiled floors and walls, a fairly large bathtub, though Bruce's first thought is that it's not a good thing for him as Jerome's hand grips his shoulder, and he shivers as Jerome shuts the door behind him. The older man stays in the room with him, taking Bruce's clothes from his hands, nearly prying them away, and throwing them onto the sink. Dread pools in Bruce's stomach, which feels like a sinking stone.

"Well, Brucie--" Jerome says and Bruce can't help the pitiful, almost pathetic whimper that escapes him as Jerome presses his chest against the teen's back, his breath ghosting over the back of Bruce's neck.

Sickness creeps through Bruce's veins, crawling on his skin, and stirring unpleasantly in his belly. He's uncomfortable, very much so, but Jerome gives no indication that he notices. Bruce, however, knows it's because Jerome doesn't actually care. He never has, and he never will.

"-- you surprised me."

Bruce blink,s his eyes stinging before the tears escape against his will. Though, they quickly turn angry as his face reddens, shame and hatred one in the same. He's angry at Jerome and Jeremiah for everything they've done to him as well as Alfred, Gordon, and all of Gotham. He hates them for the very same reasons.

But mostly, he's angry at himself and he hates himself. Ashamed was an understatement, he thought. He knew exactly what Jerome was referring to and he knows that he could've at least _tried_ to hold out and at least _tried_ to tolerate staying in the room, if for no other reason but to prove that he was better and stronger than what Jeremiah thought. But it would've been pointless, Bruce knew.

Bruce knows for a fact that he wouldn't have been able to tolerate being locked in that room for what would most likely feel like long, never ending hours, tedious and then torturous, but would have only have been a few minutes. Bruce knows he could've tried to do puzzles in his head, conjured a plan of escape, and maybe even imagined a few potential, possible conversations with Jeremiah in his head, thinking of scenarios as to how certain situations would have played out... and then he'd have been pounding on the door, screaming bloody murder for Jeremiah to let him out.

He knows he would've tried to demand at first, his pride and anger keeping him going, until after more minutes that would have felt like endless hours, and he would've been crying and begging, probably desperate, for one of them, either one, to let him out. And he knows that Jeremiah wouldn't have cared which one he went with, becoming victorious either way. Though, he certainly gained more than Bruce did by having the boy cave in sooner rather than later.

Bruce resented thinking that way, and resented the fact that he knew it was true. He knew himself and he knew that Jerome had known it too, which was most likely why Jeremiah had decided that for a punishment. He has a feeling that Jerome was most likely giving Jeremiah ideas, of which the latter would take credit for. He hated that too. He feels weak, knowing he wouldn't have been able to handle it and even though he knows that no matter what ,until he knew his exact location, the time and the day, and made a plan, he was trapped under Jeremiah's thumb. He **_hated_ **that especially.

"I mean, after our little love fest in the mirror house, I would've thought you'd sooner punch his face off than suck his dick," Jerome says before cackling, the situation clearly nothing more than entertaining to him and Bruce whimpers again, unable to stop himself, as Jerome's arm moves from his shoulder and then the redhead is touching him, hands groping every inch of skin they can reach.

They made Bruce feel dirty. Daresay tainted. It makes him want to scrub every inch of his skin until it turns red and raw, though he knows that would be pointless too. This would forever haunt him.

"Please... Jerome... stop..." Bruce begs, hating Jerome with every fiber of his being and hating himself even more.

"Oh, so you'll suck his dick but not let me have some fun?" Jerome asks. "Talk about favoritism. Boring."

Bruce can tell that Jerome is still grinning as he rests his chin on Bruce's shoulder, blatantly ignoring the teen's discomfort and trembling.

"C'mon, I know you, kiddo. Inside, you're a little spitfire," Jerome goes on. "You couldn't stand the idea of being locked inside that room, somebody else holding you under their thumb, being known as Jeremiah's exotic bird in a padlocked cage, and I can practically hear the gears turning in your pretty little head. You're already trying to figure out a way to escape."

Bruce's trembling worsens at Jerome's words, his knees quivering, as Jerome's hands massage his shoulders before trailing down his chest, fingers brushing over his nipples and making the boy gasp.

"Well, I gotta admit, I can't wait for your first attempt," Jerome says. "We'll have all kinds of fun, you and me. It'll be a... _bang_."

Bruce knows, all too well, that there's a hidden meaning behind Jerome's words. He's either referring to a gun or a bomb, but Bruce figures it has to be the former. Jerome likes bombs, Bruce knowing this all too well, but he knew that Jerome liked guns more, also, all too well. He's going to get out of this. Somehow, in some way, he just has to.

"See, it's like clockwork," Jerome says merrily. "Thinking, angry face, plotting."

"You're sick, Jerome," Bruce says quietly, believing his words.

Jerome pauses then before he huffs, scoffing slightly. He's now clearly unimpressed. Bruce finds it astounding how Jerome can go from dementedly delighted to clearly planning something, though Bruce finds it actually scarier when Jerome was being serious. It was a rare occurrence, as the man clearly masked his pain behind a dark, twisted sense of humor, but still terrifying nonetheless.

"Sick, _Bruce_\--" Jerome says seriously and Bruce flinches. "-- means there's a cure for what I am."

Bruce trembles again as his heart hammers uncontrollably in his chest. Goosebumps erupt on his skin as Jerome's hands travel down his belly. He wants, more than anything, to turn around and swing his fist, punch the madman behind him over and over again until his face does come off again but he knows it won't do him any good. Even if Jeremiah hated Jerome, Bruce would still most likely end up locked in the room... unless, of course, Jeremiah's... Bruce felt bile rising in his throat... _punishments_... were only reserved for whenever he acted out against Jeremiah, not Jerome.

"See, it took m ea while, but I finally figured out what the hell is wrong with you, Brucie," Jerome says.

Bruce scowls as he tries to pull away but Jerome just wraps his arms around his middle and pulls the boy close. It's almost a relief, Bruce thinks, as Jerome's fingers were steadily inching closer and closer to his cock, but Bruce knows the moment will be short lived. And in this bathroom, most likely _very_ short.

"You, my little conquistador, think that this world we live in is a big old black and white comic book. The heroes versus the villains, the good guys and the bad guys, the cops and the robbers. And at the end, the good guy gets to ride off into the sunset with a pretty lady," Jerome says, humming thoughtfully. "You think that the good can do no wrong and the bad can turn good if they try hard enough. Rehabilitation and redemption. Of course, at the same time, you think that people like me, people like Jeremiah, have no good in them. You think that once somebody's killed another person, there is no good in them," he says. "Makes you a little hypocritical bitch if you ask me."

Bruce frowns. He doesn't really understand why Jerome is saying these things, nor does he understand where Jerome is planning on going with this.

"Tell me, when was the last time someone in Gotham was put behind bars, Arkham or not, and actually stayed there?" Jerome asks him.

Bruce blinks, unimpressed. It was common knowledge that whenever Jerome Valeska was locked back up in Arkham, everybody in the city was counting down until he made yet another grand escape and killed more people along the way. Bruce could think of even more people than just Jerome, some of which were dead now or had been for a while, who were meant to be behind bars, locked up in Arkham, but weren't. Including Barbara and the Penguin.

"Fifty bucks says you're thinking about Pengy, at least," Jerome says.

Bruce's frown contorts into a scowl and he glares at the floor. Jerome just chuckles at him.

"Bingo," Jerome says. "Oh, who else is there? Oh, right. Kitty Cat's done some nasty stuff, and Tabby Cat, oh, definitely. And definitely Barbara. Ooh, let's not forget Jim--"

"_Don't_," Bruce grits out, not wanting to hear anymore.

"C'mon. You stop me at Jim freaking Gordon? The guy who shot me three times while I was mostly unarmed? Those bombs were disabled, I'm not an idiot, and he still chose to shoot me, the third one nearly fatal," Jerome says. "Gotham is a dirty place, Bruce. It changes people for the worst, never the better. Jim Dear is included. He isn't some flawless hero, buddy. Gotham has no heroes. Everybody's killed somebody, intentionally or not, and I'm sure you have too."

At those words, Bruce tries his hardest not to think of Ra's, even though at the time Ra's had _wanted_ to die.

"He's nothing more than a dirty cop who'll make a deal with anyone he can, even Gotham's repugnant street filth, just to take down some other dirty deed doer, and then toss aside the first guy just because he can or thinks himself better. It's like using a _penguin_ to kill a _fish_," Jerome says. "They're not your heroes and they aren't your friends, Gordon and Bullock, the GCPD. You've got a long list of bad days on your record, buddy, and eventually, that little hero complex of yours won't be enough. There will come a time when you won't be okay anymore. Even if you were to become some little hero for Gotham, it'll eventually just kill you."

Bruce is trembling. He's angry and he's afraid, humiliated and degraded, frustrated and then he's furious.

"You don't know that," Bruce says quietly.

"Bruce, I know better than anybody. But, hey, if you want to keep going with this little charade of yours that you're the good guy in this story, go right ahead. I actually prefer it when you fight," Jerome says.

Bruce is confused then. Why would Jerome say such things if he still wanted Bruce to keep fighting him?

"Then why would you--" he's about to ask that very question but he stops himself just as quickly.

He would be trying to reason with a madman, understand insanity with logic. It wouldn't be unlike looking for a torch in the darkness. But he didn't understand why Jerome would say all those things if he still wanted a fight.

"Let's be real, buddy. You're going to try and hold out for as long as you can and probably try and delude yourself into thinking you're a hero taking one for the team. And honestly, you've got a lot of stubbornness. Bet you get it from the butler," Jerome says and Bruce is silent. "It's no fun if you go down easy, I just wanna keep that little spitfire spirit of yours alive a little longer."

Bruce's anger burns like fire then, blazing in his belly and scorching under his skin as he clenches his fists.

"So, that's it then?" Bruce spits, furious. "It's entertaining for you?"

"Yes and no. It is _very_ entertaining watching you get angry, kind of hot, really," Jerome says and Bruce grimaces. "But I've got my own reasons, Brucie bear. Let's just say you happen to be my favorite little buddy."

"You're sick," Bruce says quietly.

"We've had this conversation already. And I'm sure we'll have it again and again, over and over until your tongue falls out or we're both a hundred and on our deathbeds or in the middle of killing each other," Jerome says. "Now, in the shower, before I get my ear bitched off. Jeremiah is many things, but he is not hot when he's angry. You are, but that's beside the point. But please, do me a favor, get into as much trouble as you can."

"Why?" Bruce asks, wary of the answer.

He has a feeling it's because Jerome will probably be even more entertained by whatever sick sorts of punishments and probably even torture Jeremiah can come up with. Or, the both of them will most likely experiment with the Laughing Gas, fear toxin, on him. Bruce knew that had to be what the breathing treatments were supposed to be.

"Cause, it's fun getting into trouble. The feeling of doing something naughty and then wanting more, oh, that feeling is awesome," Jerome says as he steers Bruce into the shower.

Thinking for even a moment that the shower was going to be some sort of relief, a moment of freedom from this madness and pretending that none of this was happening, was stupid, Bruce quickly realizes. It takes all of his self restraint not to start crying as he steps in and the warm spray is suddenly cascading down his back, soaking his hair and body, and then Jerome is stripping. Bruce flinches and wraps his arms around himself, as though preserving modesty and dignity, when he feels Jerome's bare chest against his back. His entire body shakes against his will when he feels Jerome pressing against him, his hardness touching Bruce's backside.

"I can--" Bruce starts but Jerome just cuts him off.

"I know, I know, you can wash yourself. Well, that's less fun, you know," Jerome says.

Bruce jumps at the sound of a bottle opening, shampoo, and sucks in a breath at the feeling of coldness touching his head. Jerome swats his hands away when he tries to push the redhead away from him and grab the bottle for himself. Bruce wants to curl into himself and hide away when he feels Jerome's fingers, cold and already soapy, touching his hair and then carding his fingers through it.

What's worse, Bruce thinks, is that for a moment, it actually feels sort of nice. Jerome's fingers run over his scalp, massaging it as he shampoos Bruce's hair. Bruce was guided under the flow of the water to rinse before the process was repeated with the conditioner, Bruce's hands getting slapped away for the second time and the conditioner felt just as nice, almost comforting, _almost_, as the shampoo.

It's weird, Bruce thinks, and wrong, he knows. He knows it's weird to think that someone else doing something like this for him is nice and he knows it's wrong just the same because it's Jerome doing it, but he can't help that thought. Under any other circumstances, it might not be so bad, because it's almost comforting, the way Jerome takes care of this for him... even something so mundane and simple...

It's wrong, his mind tells him.

It's sort of nice, another part says.

Wrong.

Nice.

The two voices argue with each other and Bruce is distracted. He barely even notices when Jerome's lips are brushing against the shell of his ear, the boy jumping when Jerome speaks.

"Stop thinking, it's too early."

Bruce freezes when he hears the sound of another bottle, the body wash, opening. It's almost like a gunshot in his ears and Bruce immediately understands why Jerome had wanted this.

"I don't--" Bruce starts to say, reaching back for the bottle and then he yelps with shock and pain.

Jerome had _slapped_ him, right on his outer thigh. He had swatted Bruce like he was doing something he wasn't supposed to. It was short and quick, more shocking than it was painful, but still just as humiliating and degrading. Bruce didn't like it at all.

"Keep that up, and that sweet ass of yours is next," Jerome says, chuckling in his ear.

Bruce whimpers as Jerome's hands are suddenly on his body, a soapy rag in one that Jerome purposefully teases him with. He starts with Bruce's shoulders before toying with his chest, his free hand teasing a sensitive nipple and it makes Bruce stir where he knows he shouldn't and he _hates_ it. Jerome is even slow as he runs the rag down Bruce's belly, lathering his skin with sweet smelling soap. Jerome washes him, almost like a child that can't do it on their own and Bruce's face _burns_.

Bruce is humiliated and ashamed, disturbed and scared. He wants to go home. He wants to be with Alfred and pretend this never happened. Pretend it was all just some horrible dream, or hold onto some hope that this was all just a nightmare that he'd eventually wake up from.

Bruce cries, his tears getting washed away by the water, when Jerome's hand curls around his cock. He grabs onto the redhead's wrist and then he's begging, his pride gone.

"Please... please... Jerome... stop..." Bruce sobs, hating it and hating himself.

He hates himself because this is his lowest point, a weakness that both of the twins are easily exploiting. It feels like he's _allowing_ Jerome to take advantage of him like this. Jeremiah as well.

Bruce _knows_ he can fight back. He knows he's stronger than he was before, stronger than the day that Jerome had kidnapped him and forced him to endure his carnival of horrors, but he's _scared_. He's scared of what both Jeremiah and Jerome will do to Alfred, and most likely enjoy immensely, and potentially Selina, even if she does have Barbara and Tabitha. In reality, however, at this very moment, Bruce is scared of what they'll do to _him_.

He doesn't know where he is and he knows that both brothers would have something planned if he does try to escape and fails. He understands now that this obsession that Jerome has, Jeremiah now as well, is worse than he originally thought. Worse than Alfred or Gordon originally thought. Bruce doesn't _want_ to be treated like a toy, almost as though he's nothing more than a disobedient child when he refuses to do whatever Jeremiah says when he tells him to do it, but he doesn't want to find out what sort of punishments Jeremiah can come up with, or Jerome, especially the breathing treatments.

"Where's that little spitfire, huh?" Jerome asks, taunting him and enjoying it.

It's there, the fire that makes Bruce want to turn around and punch Jerome until he stops moving, and disturbingly, maybe even after. It's that very reason why Bruce holds back. He knows that once he lets that fire burn, there's no stopping the blaze. He pulled himself back once and he doesn't think he can do it again.

With both brothers, it's about control. Jerome wants to make Bruce lose his control whereas Jeremiah wants Bruce to maintain it simply because it's another way for Jeremiah to control him. That thought only makes Bruce want to hit Jerome even harder and it makes him hold back just the same.

"Stop thinking about punching me in the face, and regretting it later, and start thinking of how you're going to escape," Jerome says.

Bruce stiffens, shocked, even as Jerome keeps touching him, stroking him leisurely.

Other than the sick fantasy Jerome clearly has planned out for Bruce if he escapes and is caught, what does he have to gain from helping him to escape?

"C'mon, buddy. You should see the fantasies he's got planned out for you. It's his superiority complex, really. Wants to top everything I've ever fantasized, including the honey one--" Jerome says and Bruce's closes his eyes, not wanting to think about that. "-- and you're just going to _let_ him?" Jerome asks, his tone serious. "I thought I knew you."

"Stop," Bruce says, his voice feeble and weak.

"I mean, dogs don't really like chains, do they? Unless that's your kind of thing?" Jerome asks, still serious.

"Stop it," Bruce repeats, his voice steady and strong.

"If you say so, buddy, but remember this," Jerome says, lips brushing over Bruce's ear. "Caged birdies don't sing. Especially once their wings are clipped."

**********

Bruce is staring at himself in the mirror, his face red with shame and anger. He looks at the clothes he's being forced to wear, hating Jeremiah for tricking him and hating himself for falling for it and hating Jerome for not getting the clothes that Jeremiah had wanted. Unless, of course, Jeremiah's choice of clothes would've been worse or exactly the same, only purple and green.

They are nothing he would wear under any other circumstances and he doesn't even want to think about the expression that would be on Alfred's face and the words he would surely say if he ever found out about this. Surprised, then livid, Bruce knows for certain and he doesn't' want to think about what Alfred would say and he doesn't even let Gordon, Selina, or even Bullock come to his thoughts.

Surprisingly, Jerome didn't... _take_... him in the shower. Not in the way Bruce was both expecting and dreading. He had teased Bruce and made little comments about he was such a good boy, Jeremiah's good little boy, and each one made Bruce angrier and angrier than the last. He knew it was intentional, Jerome grating on his nerves, and Bruce knew the redhead wanted him to lash out at Jeremiah just to see how it would play out.

Bruce almost didn't care about the possible punishments for himself because this was an injustice. It wasn't right and it was beyond wrong. Gordon had told him that dark night that even when it was dark, there was light, but right now it felt very far away, almost like he was reaching into an abyss.

The clothes are in his size, but that's not a relief either. If anything, it makes the situation all the more worse. The shirt is fairly comfortable, though the words on the front make Bruce's insides stir angrily as his skin crawls and he tries his hardest not to think of his father while he stares at the underwear on the sink, his face burning. He doesn't want to have to earn men's underwear but he can't bring himself to put these on. Jerome, sensing weakness, took matters into his own hands.

"Come here."

Jerome turns Bruce around so that he's facing the redhead and Bruce pointedly stares at the ceiling as Jerome lifts his feet to put the underwear on and slides them up his legs. The fabric actually feels soft and daresay nice on his skin, like silk, but it doesn't make them any less humiliating and demeaning.

"You sexy kitten you," Jerome says, grinning as frustrated tears tickle the corner of Bruce's eyes as Jerome repeats the process with the shorts.

They're tight, but not entirely uncomfortable. The only discomfort here is that they shouldn't even be on his body, and they're shorter than necessary. The worst discomfort is the shame that comes with the clothes.

"Hot diggity," Jerome says, still grinning as he stands back up, zipping up Bruce's fly as he does. "C'mon then."

Jerome then leads him out of the bathroom and down the hall to the dining room, Bruce's eyes straying to the door at the opposite end of the hall, which is still closed. The dining room itself is fairly large and sort of nice, with a dining room set that reminds Bruce of Wayne Manor and his eyes grow misty as he thinks about home. _His_ home. The table is set up for two and the setting would be romantic, with the candlelit dinner that Jeremiah has prepared for him, if Bruce wasn't internally screaming, feeling like a prisoner.

Jeremiah's eyes are rather soft when they're on Bruce, but there is a bitter darkness to them when they settle on Jerome. Bruce knows it's because the shower did take longer than necessary, Jerome purposefully teasing and taking his time and making them... _tardy_.

"See you later, Brucie. Got a meeting with Pengy," Jerome says as he sits Bruce down next to Jeremiah.

Bruce blinks, his mind slowly comprehending what Jerome has just said and he's surprised.

"Why?" Bruce can't help but ask.

"Well, personally, I've still got a bone to pick with him for running to Jimbo, but other than that I have to apologize for what Jeremiah did," Jerome says.

Jerome's grin stretches then, ear to ear, the scars on his face becoming more and more prominent.

"Oswald Cobblepot deserves much more than what Jongleur received," Jeremiah says tartly.

"Sure, but at least Pengy never blew people up with a rocket launcher."

Bruce, who had just grabbed his fork, froze as his eyes widened. The utensil slipped from his fingers and fell back onto the table, clattering.

"I know! It was awesome! Buttered Pengy up and boom, rocket launcher. Then another boom," Jerome says before he starts cackling.

"At least I had the foresight to have a second plan," Jeremiah says, clearly unhappy.

"Yeah, but how many idiots, myself included, think of a rocket launcher as a second plan?" Jerome says and Jeremiah scowls.

Jerome sighs, still grinning, and he leaves then, but not before tilting Bruce's chair back and kissing him, startling the boy and aggravating Jeremiah even worse. Bruce trembles, lips tingling, as he watches Jerome leave and he can hear Jeremiah sigh, unimpressed.

"He's always been that way. Bold, crude, infuriating... the list goes on," Jeremiah says quietly.

"Why would you--?" Bruce starts to ask, finding Jeremiah even more intimidating than before.

Gone was the shy, scared young man who had been terrified of his brother. Now, it was a man who had no qualms about killing someone, who barely showed any emotions other than repressed anger directed at Jerome. It was even more frightening to think that the only kinder emotions Jeremiah had expressed were directed at Bruce. He didn't like it.

"Money," Jeremiah says simply, still clearly annoyed. "Barbara Kean, Tabitha Galavan, and Oswald Cobblepot and his hired help thought it quite clever to demand money from me during the six hour evacuation period I gave the city before I detonated my bombs. They had Jongleur, one of Jerome's most loyal followers, and my core relay. Of course, I was nothing but reasonable and perfectly sane and then the GCPD had the audacity to put me on hold. 50 million, for each of them. I must say, Cobblepot does not know how to whisper a plan," Jeremiah says, smiling humorlessly. "He wanted to take the money I would've have reasonably given him, kill me and Jerome's little followers afterwards, and give my core relay to the police while being hailed the hero of Gotham. Again," Jeremiah says darkly. "Of course, the poor fool wouldn't have realized the bombs would've detonated regardless and even if they hadn't, he would've kept out the information of where the money had gone."

Bruce frowns, not understanding how Jeremiah saw that as a reason to kill another person. Even if it was one of Jerome's followers.

"That's still not a reason to... to kill someone... especially like that..." Bruce says quietly.

"I suppose not, but you are forgetting key details," Jeremiah says patiently. "Jongleur, after Jerome's arrest, took over his little cult. He was the one who ordered and led the assault on the GCPD, throwing that pathetic little party for Jerome's continued survival. Jongleur had his own list of crimes, Bruce, and he outlived his usefulness once he allowed himself to be captured and gave up valuable information."

"But..." Bruce murmured, still not understanding how Jeremiah could talk so easily about killing somebody.

"And believe me when I say this; his eyes were looking at a painting that wasn't his to look at. And his eyes aren't the only ones," Jeremiah says darkly and Bruce, understanding that immediately, flushes.

"That's not true..." Bruce says, not wanting to believe that. "You're just... trying to get me to take your side..."

Jeremiah's smile is bitter.

"Oh, yes," he says softly. "It is very much true. I am many things, Bruce, and I have lied to you, yes, but in regards to this, I am not lying. I have no reason to," Jeremiah says as he helps himself to his meal, steak and potatoes.

Bruce realizes, other than Oswald Cobblepot, who Jeremiah had mentioned and focuses on that, ignoring the fact that he's sharing a meal with Jeremiah even if it isn't willing.

"Why were Tabitha and Barbara with Oswald Cobblepot?" Bruce asks, hesitant.

"They were demanding money, of course. Barbara Kean will never amount to anything more than a murderess who also happens to own a nightclub. Tabitha, just the same. Although, I suppose Tabitha's desire for the money was much more pure than Cobblepot's. Of course, the poor darling doesn't even realize that Cobblepot has his own dirty agenda. I do feel sorry for Butch Gilzean," Jeremiah says simply.

"Was..." Bruce starts to ask before he swallows, unsure if he should really ask his next question. "Was Selina with them?" he asks, worried about Jeremiah's reaction and Selina's well-being.

"No, but she was brought into conversation," Jeremiah says, not even reacting. "Of course, once it had been brought to her attention that you'd been kidnapped, and she'd rescued your faithful butler, she'd run quite quickly to Miss Galavan and Miss Kean," Jeremiah says, not even looking at Bruce.

"What did... what did they say?" Bruce asks, still hesitant but unable to hold back his curiosity.

"Oh, they don't really care about your well-being, as you now," Jeremiah says.

Bruce knows they don't and he doesn't trust Tabitha or Barbara... especially after Ra's...

"But Miss Kyle is very adamant about finding you, as is Alfred. Of course, now Cobblepot and Gilzean know of your disappearance and news is surely spreading as we speak," Jeremiah says before chuckling, still humorless. "I do feel sorry for you as well, Bruce. Your father's company to be handed over so easily even though they don't actually have a body to prove you have died."

Bruce stops eating at once, the fork halfway to his mouth. His stomach suddenly feels hollow and his blood feels very cold, almost as though it's stopped moving altogether.

"What?" Bruce asks, now scared.

"Your company, Bruce, with your continued status of missing, is to be handed over to the person next in line for the position of CEO. A Mr. Bedeker. A very dirty character. Shady, greedy. And all because you dropped off the face of the earth," Jeremiah says.

Bruce feels scared and then his anger comes back at once, tenfold.

"They can't just--" he starts but Jeremiah cuts him off, a look of pity in his eyes.

"They can't just do that?" Jeremiah asks. "Oh, Bruce, they can do that. It will take some time, but eventually, Mr. Bedeker will become the next CEO of Wayne Industries. Perhaps, he will even rename it Bedeker Industries."

Bruce's insides squirm uncomfortably. He doesn't know Mr. Bedeker personally, but he knows that Jeremiah isn't wrong or lying when he says that he's a very dirty person, very shady and very greedy.

"I need to go back," Bruce says at once.

"I'm afraid, at the moment, that isn't possible," Jeremiah says, his eyes steeling over.

The grip on Bruce's fork tightens.

"I must lose my company... and you won't let me prove I'm alive to get it back?" he grits out, his fists clenching.

"You will have your company returned to you, and you will be given a list of characters that will be removed. I am simply trying to help you, Bruce," Jeremiah says, still just as patient and that makes Bruce even angrier.

He throws his fork down, ignoring how Jeremiah's eyes harden and narrow at the action.

"You're not _helping_ me. You've _hurt_ me. You... you blackmailed me into..." Bruce says angrily before stopping himself, feeling too sick to say those words and relive that memory. "You're not helping me."

"I am, helping you, actually. Not that you can see that yet, obviously," Jeremiah says, still infuriatingly patient.

"How?" Bruce snaps.

"You already know of the corruption within your father's company, don't you?" Jeremiah asks and Bruce hesitantly nods, having learned about it the hard way. "There is always more, including dear Mr. Bedeker. I am simply trying to give you further insight and initiative as to what exactly you are going to do about it."

Bruce just stares at him, confused. Jeremiah just chuckles softly, still so patient.

"I'm already having Ecco look into those certain characters as we speak. The list goes on and on and you will have your hands quite full when you do return," Jeremiah says.

Bruce just keeps staring, wondering how Jeremiah can be so calm and patient and act as though this entire situation is understandable and acceptable. Jeremiah had told him that for now, this was his home... but why would he go to these lengths to kidnap Bruce, take him, blackmail him, just to let him go in the end? What was his endgame? A thought hit him.

"You're not going to let me go... until I give you what you want," Bruce says, thinking of his company, money and weapons...

"Very close, Bruce," Jeremiah says, smiling gently. "But contrary to what you are surely thinking right now, I do not want your company, nor the money or weaponry involved, and neither does Jerome. You know he is not at all interested in money. He'd sooner set it all ablaze than take a single dollar of it. That is one admirable thing about him, I'll admit," Jeremiah says. "No, I want _you_. But I do know how much your company means to you. I don't want to see you lose it, and I would hate for Mr. Bedeker to soil it even further than he and numerous other persons already have. Really, when you return to Gotham is entirely up to you, Bruce."

Bruce blinks, the realization of what Jeremiah has just said dawning on him. Those three words echo in his mind.

_Return to Gotham. Return to Gotham. Return to Gotham. Return to Gotham._

"You're... you're not taking me out of Gotham... are you?" Bruce asks hesitantly, not wanting to hear the answer as his insides suddenly start performing strange somersaults.

He doesn't feel hungry anymore, even though he's only had a little bit to eat. He feels very nauseous and scared. Jeremiah can't be serious... can he?

"Not yet, of course. As I've told you, for now, this is your home. I'm having ours built right now," Jeremiah says, smiling a genuine smile.

Bruce feels a lump, along with bile, forming in his throat.

"I'm not going," he says, his voice firm and clear.

Jeremiah _can't_ take him out of Gotham. The city has always been Bruce's home. And the farther away from Gotham... the farther away from Alfred... from Gordon...

"No, not yet, you're not. But you will, Bruce," Jeremiah says, still smiling.

"Why are you doing this?" Bruce asks, knowing now that he has to escape sooner than later.

"A multitude of reasons, really. Mostly, I am trying to help you and prove to you, that I am perfectly sane and my feelings for you are quite true," Jeremiah says and Bruce wants to scoff at him, maybe even scream at him.

"You don't... you don't have _feelings_ for me, Jeremiah... you're... you're sick--"

The kind, warm, loving demeanor changes at once and it reminds Bruce of Jerome with how quickly he changes his tune. Jerome, wickedly delighted to serious, and Jeremiah, warm and tender, to cold and emotionless.

"How very easy it is for someone else to say that they know exactly how another is feeling. Or, simply, get over it," Jeremiah says darkly. "I am not sick, nor am I insane. You will understand, soon enough, that this is how life is going to be.I can make things very difficult for you and if you ever dare to call me sick or insane again or attempt to say that you know what it is that I feel, I will forego punishments entirely and give you your first breathing treatment. Do you understand?" Jeremiah asks, his eyes just as cold.

Bruce starts to shake but it's not out of fear. It's out of anger. Raw, unbidden, pure anger. Rage wouldn't be an understatement.

"You can't do this--" Bruce starts angrily, ready to chance it.

"One," Jeremiah says, counting as though Bruce is misbehaving like a child, trying to scare Bruce into submission.

It doesn't work. It doesn't scare him, it makes him angrier. Jeremiah is counting until Bruce is given a punishment, or a breathing treatment, and he knows it will have something to do with the fear toxin but he can't stop himself. He is not a child for Jeremiah to discipline, a dog for him to train, or a toy for him to play with. He is a _person_.

"Two."

The grip on his fork tightens and Jeremiah clicks his tongue then, disapproving.

"I will assume this is Jerome's doing, but I will not blame him for every little thing that you do. Go ahead, Bruce. Attempt to stab me with your fork, or maybe actually stab me. You will not like the consequences to your actions," Jeremiah says. "Or simply stand up and try to leave. I've already had my share, courtesy of Jerome, so I might as well be immune at this point."

Ignoring this, Bruce stands, dropping the fork.

"I want to go home. You're sick--"

A smile, sickly sweet, forms on Jeremiah's lips. It's anything but pleasant or even charming.

"Such effort put into earning yourself clothing, and here you are, misbehaving--"

"I'm not your pet!" Bruce snaps, his entire body shaking.

"No, you're not," Jeremiah says softly, his eyes vacant of emotion. "A pet is obedient and respectful and delights in the approval of its master. I suppose Jerome is right when he says that words go in one of your ears and floats right out the other," he smiles then, sickly sweet and dark. "If I am insane, as you say, then you must be as well."

Bruce blinks, not understanding how Jeremiah could've come up with that.

"No, I'm not," he says, defiant.

"Why ever not, Bruce? What is it that makes you, above all, perfectly sane?" Jeremiah asks him, quite seriously.

"I don't enjoy killing people. Hurting them--" Bruce starts but Jeremiah interrupts.

"Who said I enjoyed killing Jongleur? I was simply sending a message to Jerome's followers, Cobblepot and his associates, Miss Kyle, and in the long run, your butler as well as Jim Gordon and the rest of the GCPD, all while tying up a loose end," Jeremiah says. "Who even said I enjoy killing at all? Tell me, Bruce, what, in comparison to myself, makes you of all people, sane?"

He's just as insane as Jerome... Bruce thinks.

"I don't hurt people... I don't kill them..." Bruce says quietly.

"Sit down, Bruce," Jeremiah orders.

Bruce ignores the order.

"Sit down, and do tell me about Ra's al Ghul--" Bruce's insides freeze. "-- you killed him, did you not?"

"That's different," Bruce says immediately. "He wanted to die."

Either Barbara or Tabitha told Jeremiah this, and he doesn't even understand how this could've come up into conversation. He doesn't like that Jeremiah knows this, and by association, so does Jerome.

"Yes, Miss Kean said exactly that," Jeremiah says. "But you still took a life, did you not? Ended the life of another individual. Even though Ra's asked you to do so, you still did it. You broke your little moral code and ended a life that was not yours to take. It was still murder regardless of his wishes," Jeremiah stares at him. "You are not sane, Bruce. You have not been sane since you were twelve years old. Now sit down."

Bruce trembles even as he sits down, pretending that it was by his own choosing rather than him listening to Jeremiah's order. He ignores the fact that there's a smugness to Jeremiah's expression now.

"You cannot tell me that you spend each day not thinking about your past. About what you've endured. You cannot tell me that you can go to sleep and dream something beautiful or nothing at all, rather than bloodshed and carnage," Jeremiah says. "The people of this world are much like glass. They can crack and they can certainly break. You, when your parents were killed right in front of you, cracked very deeply. You cannot tell me otherwise. And just yesterday, that crack grew. You may be stubborn, so much to the point where you would delude yourself, but I can be very patient. You will see that you are not above those you declare insane. If I am insane, by your standards, then you must remember, you are as well. Now, finish your dinner, it would be insulting to Ecco's cooking."

Bruce stares down at his plate, unable to look at Jeremiah. He isn't sure of how he's supposed to feel but he is angry. He's angry at the man who killed his parents, angry at the corruption in his father's company, angry at Mr. Bedeker for immediately sneaking in and angry at his the board for handing it over so easily even though Bruce has only been gone for a day, probably only just now declared missing. Kidnapped by Jerome Valeska. And he's angry at Ra's al Ghul. He's angry at Jeremiah and Jerome and most of all, he's angry with himself. He hates that Jeremiah's words are echoing around in his head even as he keeps eating, though his appetite has seemingly vanished.

In his mind, he can picture himself standing in that alley when he was only twelve years old and his parents were killed. He can picture something made of glass, either a pane or even a crystal ball, suddenly cracking in the middle. Then, after the carnival with Jerome, the crack had grown. And after... yesterday... the entire ball was covered in jagged lines, hundreds of shards ready to split and fall apart and Bruce could even imagine the sound of glass breaking, each tick like the sound of a clock. It wasn't broken, not yet, shattered and to be repaired in the way Jeremiah would want, but it's close. Very close.

But he has to hold on, he knows. He doesn't want Jeremiah to win. He doesn't want Jerome to be victorious. He is better than that. He is very much sane. Much more sane than Jerome or Jeremiah.

"I'm not insane," Bruce says, wanting to believe his own words.

He does not believe he is deluding himself into believing anything. He knows that everything bad in his life is going to scar over and stay there until he dies, but he's not deluding himself into thinking he's sane... right?

"Then neither am I," Jeremiah says quietly. "Now finish up and we'll go over your schedule."

Bruce looks up from his plate, wondering how Jeremiah can be so calm and content right now when his words are beyond infuriating.

"Since you did as you were told and earned yourself clothign, you will be permitted to leave your bedroom. You will not be allowed outside without an escort, either myself, Ecco, or Jerome. You will join me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You will, of course, be training with Jerome. He explicitly stated he was having that or I would be receiving a hsank in a place I would not like," Jeremiah says.

"Why?" Bruce asks, wondering if training meant fighting.

He wasn't sure why Jerome would want something like that, but then he supposed it was just another form of entertainment for him. He had been grinning the entire time Bruce was hitting him in the mirror house, his mad eyes practically uring Bruce to kill him with that broken piece of the mirror.

"I imagine it entertains him, but it is also useful. As he puts it, you know how to swing a punch and his face remembers," Jeremiah says, his smile turning humorless again. "You will see, one day, that this not only benefits you, but Gotham as well."

"How? You were going to blow it up," Bruce says, wondering how any of this could benefit himself or Gotham.

"Every artist needs a blank canvas, Bruce," Jeremiah says, smiling warmly now. "I've found myself another," he says, looking right at him. "A better one," he adds. "And in reality, it will be for the better of everyone."

"How?" Bruce asks, wary.

Jeremiah just smiles at him, grinning a predator's grin.

"You'll see. In time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Jeremiah has not met Ra's al Ghul in this story but Barbara and Tabitha may play a bigger role. Not sure yet


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Happy early birthday phantomgirl96, I wanted to post this on the ninth but it's all crazy over here so I hope you enjoy this one  
\- Tabby and Babsy might play a bigger role  
\- More manipulation in this chapter and still no smut

"I do have another question for you; a train is running out of control down its track and in its path are five people who have been died down to the track and are unable to escape. Fortunately, there is a switch you could flip to send the train down another track, and you would save the lives of those five people. Unfortunately, there is one person tied to the second track. Do you flip the switch, or let fate run its destined course?"

Bruce looks up from his empty plate at Jeremiah's question, wondering where it's coming from.

"What?" he whispers quietly, knowing that no matter which choices he makes, Jeremiah is somehow the victor.

Jeremiah just smiles, patient as ever.

"The question is quite simple, Bruce," Jeremiah says. "Would you kill one person to save five people? Or would you let five people die to save one person?"

"Neither," Bruce says at once.

"You could decide not to flip the switch, and then you are still responsible for the deaths of five people," Jeremiah says.

"I wouldn't even be--" Bruce immediately stops himself.

If he were to say that he would never be in a situation like that, then Jeremiah and Jerome will take it upon themselves to make sure he is put into that kind of scenario. Though, in Jerome's case, either five people or only one person would be blown up. And until Bruce made his choice, Jerome would make it for him by killing them all. But it's not just that as much as dark choices like that are always coming about, no matter which path he seems to choose. It's like choosing to kill Ra's before being forced to bring him back to life.

"It's a trick question, as it is a simple one. Would you rather end five lives to save the one, or end one life to save five? And there is no neutrality in the situation, because if you choose not to flip the switch, then those five people still die. There are three choices, every one of them having someone die. You would still be killing those five people by not making the choice,"Jeremiah says.

"I wouldn't be the one who killed them..." Bruce says quietly.

"Oh, incorrect. You wouldn't be the one who deliberately tied them to the track. In that situation, you would still have chosen not to flip the switch in a pitiful attempt to keep yourself neutral and keep the blood from your fingers. And yet you would find more and more blood staining your hands. Do you disagree that five lives are more valuable than one?" Jeremiah asks.

"It's... it's not right... killing isn't right..." Bruce says, nearly whispering.

"To some, that is the case, isn't it? To others, killing is a necessity that seemingly becomes second nature," Jeremiah says, staring at him with eyes that are like knives. Piercing. "Not only that, but imagine if you chose to flip the switch and killed that one person to save five. Imagine, if upon closer inspection, you realized that the five people you just saved are actually part of Gotham's criminal underworld, or simply dirtier characters than the one person you just killed. Imagine, you make the choice without knowing who you are saving and who you are killing," Jeremiah continues. "Imagine, in one scenario, the one person to the opposite track is your beloved butler or even Jim Gordon, and the other five people, are say, Oswald Cobblepot, and a few others."

Jeremiah's smile is dark, snakelike, as he continues on, causing a shiver to run down Bruce's spine.

"And you cannot say that within that very split second, upon instinct, daresay, you would not hesitate to save your butler, even if that meant ending the life of another person," he said. "And even though you saved your butler and say, you killed a well known criminal, if it wasn't in self defense, then you might be charged for killing that dirty person," Jeremiah's smile is bitter as it is dark. "And do tell me, would you not kill the man who killed your parents?" he asks.

Bruce is silent.

"He took their lives, forever scarred you until the day you die. He was nothing, and he took away two of Gotham's most important citizens," Jeremiah says, his eyes now empathetic. "Took away your _parents_, the people you _loved_. Would you not kill him?"

Bruce remembers when he had found him, Patrick "Matches" Malone.

"He wanted me to," Bruce admits, not sure why he's telling Jeremiah this but he supposes he has to answer lest he make Jeremiah upset and maybe even angry. "But I didn't. He said he was a monster, but he was really just a man. He asked me if I knew a killer when I saw one, but he just looked ordinary," Bruce says quietly. "I didn't kill him."

"But he died anyway, didn't he? How did he die?" Jeremiah asks and Bruce frowns.

"He killed himself," he says quietly.

"And how did he do that?" Jeremiah asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"He... he wanted me to shoot him... but I didn't... I left the gun there... and by the time Gordon came... we heard the gunshot..." Bruce says quietly.

Looking back on it, he didn't shoot Malone not only because he was just a man, but because at the time, he _couldn't_. He knows that would not and could not are two entirely separate things under certain circumstances.

Jeremiah's frowning now too, empathetic.

"Stings, doesn't it?" Jeremiah says softly. "Knowing that you could have avenged your parents, but then it would have been pointless, as he wanted to die, much like Ra's. And your parents wouldn't have been magically brought back to life the moment that he died. He was really just a man trying to survive in this dark city, not truly caring about who he killed so long as he lived. But here is the real dagger; you didn't kill him because that was what he wanted. In reality, you weren't doing him a kindness or even saving your soul from the stain of murder. You were simply prolonging the inevitable while torturing him just a little longer, because what a cruel heart he made in just one night. Turned a little boy so cold. But really, you still did kill him."

Bruce clenches his teeth, closing his eyes as he remembers the gunshot.

"I didn't mean to," Bruce says quietly.

"Nobody means to do anything most of the time, now do they? But you left the gun with him, loaded and cocked. Even then, you must have realized what a stupid decision it was," Jeremiah says. "And because of that thoughtless decision, a man died. Even a dirty one like him. I can see right through you, Bruce. You wish you hadn't left that gun behind, you wish he could've lived and would've spent the rest of his miserable, lonely days behind bars where he belonged, because in reality, underneath that little complex of yours that values human life, even the most filthiest of filthy street rats and even those in Gotham's elite, you were mostly upset because he was able to end his misery. He may have regretted what he did, but that doesn't change that it still happened and that your parents are still dead. He got a way out, but you didn't. And you still hate him, and yourself, for it."

Bruce hadn't even realized he was crying until Jeremiah was pressing his thumb to the boy's cheek, wiping the tears away. The sickest part was, Jeremiah wasn't _wrong_. He had actually felt bad for Patrick Malone despite everything, but underneath that sympathy had been hatred. He wanted his parents back more than anything, wishing there was some way he could stop what had happened and maybe Gotham wouldn't be so far into corruption, but he can't. He can't bring his parents back and he can't bring back Malone.

And Jeremiah isn't wrong when he says that it's still Bruce's fault that Malone is dead. His own finger might've pulled that trigger, but Bruce was the one who left the gun.

"Did you want him to kill himself?" through teary eyes, Bruce stares at Jeremiah, who's own eyes are so soft and empathetic. It's almost as though Jeremiah is trying to _comfort_ him. "To give you another reason to hate him?"

Bruce trembles as he swallows, unable to answer. He might have, he thinks. He was just a kid back then, stupid about the world and naive enough to leave the gun behind... and he had just been so frustrated because there wasn't enough _evidence_ to put him away. It wasn't fair because the only witness they'd had was dead and Bruce _knew_ it was Malone.

"Why wasn't he in prison, Bruce?" Jeremiah asks, patient and comforting.

"There wasn't enough..." Bruce swallows, his frustration feeling ready to bubble over and break free, turning into anger. "... _evidence_," he says, spitting out the word like a foul taste on his tongue. "To put Malone away..."

"That is another problem with Gotham's police force, you know," Jeremiah says softly. "You knew, and Gordon surely knew, that Malone was responsible for the deaths of your parents. The murderer of Thomas and Martha Wayne. And yet he was walking around, waiting to kill again, I'm guessing for money. And the worst thing he could have done that night was exactly what he did. He let you live," Bruce jumps when Jeremiah puts his hand atop of his, but it's _comforting_. "He left you alive and let you suffer the consequences, to deal with a wound that would never truly heal, to live with a scar that would never fade. And that's the worst part, isn't it?"

Bruce can't help but nod. It's empathy, he knows, because Jeremiah knows how it feels to lose his parents even if he wasn't there at the time... it's different, but in a sense it is the same. But Bruce doesn't know the full story, and he knows there are two sides to the story, two stories that most likely don't align, each brother having his own version of things, but the empathy is still there.

"I lost my mother because of Jerome, and I never knew my father and what a surprise that he was killed by Jerome, just the same. Even my uncle..." Jeremiah says quietly, his eyes sad and bitter, resentful. "I know how it feels to be alone, Bruce. To have no one understand how it feels and when they do try to console you, act as though they can understand or ask you to help them understand, it's infuriating and unfair. With you, there wasn't enough evidence to lock Malone away and he was able to find an out," Jeremiah says. "With me, I never got to see her again before Jerome killed her and I never got to know my father before Jerome killed him too, and it doesn't even matter to lock Jerome away, because he'll only escape and kill again. That is the problem, Bruce, and you understand more than anyone else how unfair the justice system, especially in Gotham, really is. And even vigilante justice, even when _right_, to them is _wrong_ and punishable. The city would never even thank you."

Bruce sniffles as he unconsciously grabs onto Jeremiah's hand. Though, he's not sure if he's seeking comfort or asking him to stop. A disturbing thought, in his mind, is that he's holding onto Jeremiah's hand because in a twisted way, the man does understand. More than Gordon or Bullock. And Gordon hadn't been a cop at that time, so it hadn't seemed fair that he couldn't evidence or do something _more_. Bruce had taken matters into his own hands, acted like a vigilante to find Malone, and it hadn't ended the way he'd wanted.

"If anything, you did the city a favor by letting that man end his life, but at the same time, the police would never see it that way. You didn't pull the trigger, there was no gunpowder on your fingers, but it was still technically your fault. And even so, another person, just as filthy or perhaps even worse, would come along and I can't even say that he'd destroy this city further. The city has belonged to the dogs for years," Jeremiah says as he runs his fingers through Bruce's hair, holding onto the boy's hand.

Bruce hates that he actually leans into the touch, still crying.

"Nobody will ever understand and even if you did become a hero for Gotham, albeit a dark one, the city would never thank you. They would never love you. You could hide yourself under a mask and they'd still resent you. You could do your best and even better, but one little slip up, one moment where you lose control, and it's all over. It would never be that way if you would understand my point of view," Jeremiah says.

"Barbara Kean and Tabitha Galavan would sooner throw your bullet filled corpse into the river than ever thank you for anything. Same for Oswald Cobblepot and every other rat in this godforsaken city. There may be good in the world, Bruce, but whenever there is a beacon of light, the darkness destroys it. And sometimes, that beautiful, seemingly hopeful light you see, often has the darkest shadows behind it, of which, it creates itself. You know I am not lying to you, and if you dare try to deny it or even simply ignore it, then you are merely deluding yourself in the grand scheme of things."

Bruce's shoulders wrack with sobs, Jeremiah's words so soft and gentle but to Bruce, they feel like some sort of blade piercing right through him. He knows it's not Jeremiah's intention to make him upset at this moment, but it does. It _hurts_. He knows Jeremiah and even Jerome aren't wrong when they say that the GCPD, and even Gordon, hold double standards. It's just not fair. And as far as Brew knew, Hugo Strange was still a free man even after everything he's done. Same with Oswald Cobblepot and Barbara and Tabitha. And most explicitly, Jerome.

"I almost envy him, Malone," Jeremiah says quietly.

"Why?" Bruce murmurs, tears dripping down his chin.

"Because of how badly he's hurt you, because of how close that has put him to you. He may be dead, but he is a stain that will linger forever. A scar that will never fade from you or even this city. One little action, a catastrophic consequence," Jeremiah says as he turns Bruce's head towards him, the boy being forced to look at him. "And you know I envy Jerome, because he knew you first and had it not been for him, I would never have known you. And because of him, we didn't meet under better circumstances," Jeremiah says before scowling. "Everything in my life has either been ruined by him or taken away or I never had it at all. It is going to be very different now, and when the time does come..."

Jeremiah sighs and Bruce does feel bad for him. He wasn't sure if Jerome was telling the truth when he said that Jeremiah, even before the Laughing Gas, was just as crazy as he was, but Jerome has caused a lot of turmoil and suffering in his life... but then again, for all Bruce knows, Jeremiah could very well be part of the reason Jerome went so wrong. Jeremiah's eyes drift down to the clothes on Bruce's body.

"Not bad, I suppose, but not very impressive. Certainly not what I had in mind," Jeremiah says and Bruce flushes.

"I wanted clothes," Bruce murmurs.

"And clothes, you did receive. Just not what we both had in mind. Would you like to earn men's clothing?" Jeremiah asks.

Bruce's flush darkens at the rather hopeful tone in the man's voice and he shakes his head, remembering the blowjob and he'd rather not have Jerome mysteriously come back and watch... again.

"It's nothing like that, though I did enjoy it. Very much," Jeremiah says, smirking at the reddening of Bruce's ears. He tilts the boy's chin up, his eyes on Bruce's lips. "Kiss me, Bruce, and you will have, at the very least, actual pants."

Bruce's entire body shakes. He knows why Jeremiah is doing this. It's a way to get back at Jerome and pull Bruce towards him and farther away from Jerome, almost as though Bruce is nothing more than a toy that the brothers are fighting over. It's Jeremiah's jealousy, he knows. Even now, Jeremiah is still jealous of Jerome. Bruce wants to think that it was just another dumb, meaningless kiss, because Jeremiah isn't his friend and certainly not his lover. Jeremiah had hurt him, just as deeply as Malone, but it's actually worse because he had taken Bruce's control.

"They'll be... pants...?" Bruce asks quietly, biting his lip and not missing how Jeremiah's eyes darken. He can't think about his pride and dignity right now.

"Of course," Jeremiah says, pale eyes still on Bruce's lips.

Bruce trembles as he leans forward, his dignity crushed under Jeremiah's thumb, and he presses his lips to the older man's. They're still so soft and it still feels so strange and already his lips are tingling. Jeremiah lets go of his hand in favor of cupping his face, but his touch is gentle. Bruce wishes he could say that he didn't like it, and wishes he could say it was simply the calm before the storm, but he can't. Jeremiah doesn't even take over the kiss this time, rather he softly pecks Bruce's lips, waiting for the boy to respond.

It's wrong, so very wrong, Bruce knows, but he can't help it. In this dark moment, it's _comforting_. He whimpers as he feels Jeremiah's tongue poking his lips, urging him to respond, and in that moment, Bruce does. He sighs into the kiss as Jeremiah keeps it going, Bruce opening his mouth and letting the older man in.

It felt _nice_.

Even in that dark moment, perhaps one of Bruce's darkest hours, in the arms of the madman, Bruce feels, for once in a very long time, _safe_. It almost feels as though the entire world makes sense and nobody would dare judge him for anything at all. It almost feels as though everything, Gotham and all of the world, is sane. It was a madness, Bruce knew, and a twisted variant of Jeremiah's corrupted feelings being projected onto him. It wasn't love, and even if it was, it was only a madness. He didn't dare say that to Jeremiah, however.

Bruce shivered as Jeremiah's tongue poked at his, as though coaxing it to _play_. He doesn't, because he doesn't think he can handle that right now, but Jeremiah is patient as ever, daresay understanding even though this entire situation is nothing but madness. Delusional, even. Bruce tries his hardest not to flinch from the wet sound of their lips parting, and flushes deeply at the lust in Jeremiah's eyes.

He isn't sure what makes him say it, but he feels as though he has to, because if he doesn't, he might just fall into the darkness that he sees in Jeremiah's eyes.

"There are still good people in the world. Even Gotham," he says quietly.

Jeremiah smiles, a soft chuckle passing his lips.

"Perhaps, but the darkness always snuffs the light, or the light itself creates a new sort of darkness. Perhaps, one worst than the previous," Jeremiah says softly, fingers brushing over Bruce's hair. "Jerome and myself, unfortunately, are prime examples."

"I want..." Bruce says, swallowing as his eyes burn with tears. "I want to go home..."

Jeremiah's smile is small, but still ever present.

"We'll be home soon enough, Bruce."

But Bruce doesn't want that home. He wants to go back to the home he has with Alfred, or maybe, had, but he knows that Jeremiah and Jerome Valeska will forever scar him, just like Patrick "Matches" Malone...

"This is madness..." Bruce murmurs quietly, unable to stop himself.

Most unfortunately, Jeremiah hears him and it almost makes Bruce wish he hadn't said anything at all with how Jeremiah's eyes change.

"So you say, yet again," Jeremiah says in a soft voice.

He hums softly and it is terrifying how much it reminds Bruce of Jerome. What he thinks would be even more terrifying is Jeremiah's reaction to being compared to Jerome at all, unless it was about how he was most definitely the better of the two brothers.

Jeremiah looks so thoughtful, Bruce thinks, though his face holds no real, decipherable emotion. His eyes are strange, looking as though they are plotting something and Bruce knows he must be. He also knows that it won't end well for him.

"Tell me, Bruce, do you really think that even if you do escape and are successful, rather than being caught by Jerome and unable to look at a gun the same way again, you will be able to return to that old life?"

It's like a knife to the heart, a punch to the stomach, and a sudden gunshot wound all in one.

"I--"

"You know as well as I do that Alfred will know something is different, and in his eyes, wrong, as he surely knows you best. You may be good at lying, maybe even a damn good actor, but you aren't perfect and the people closest to us can always see past the deception," Jeremiah says and Bruce knows its from personal experience. "And he won't push it, will he? And that will make you feel even worse for keeping it a secret even though you know he can't ever know about it," his tone is bitter at that part.

"Even worse still, is that if you did tell the police, Gordon and Bullock or not, who would find out regardless, it won't matter. The cycle will continue on, with Jerome being locked away in Arkham and even if he does die, then I suppose I will have no other options but to carry on his dark legacy, won't I? And it sitll wouldn't end until I die, and even then it would live on within Gotham's discontent," Jeremiah says darkly. "You will learn, Bruce, the easy way or the hard way, that you are not above me simply because you declare yourself sane. I am going to show you something and you can try and fight me all you like, and it will become very painful for you, or you can accept it and enjoy it."

The smile on his face is now anything but comforting, and the hand he's put back onto Bruce's feels like the thorns on a wilted rose.

"A river cuts through rock not because of its power, but because of its persistence," Jeremiah whispers softly in Bruce's ear, the boy shivering as coldness runs down his spine, almost as though Jeremiah has just drenched him in icy water, and it creeps through his veins like a plague. "And I will make sure, most personally, that the lesson properly sinks in," he says quietly, those words having a darker meaning to them. "And I will find the perfect method for applying the right amount of..." he grins a wicked grin, so alike his brother's. "... _pressure_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I'll be seeing you all in the next chapter but with all the madness going on over here, not sure when it'll be up

**Author's Note:**

> \- How was it? Hope it was good


End file.
